KATHLEEN 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

PARNASSUS  ON  WHEELS 

THE  HAUNTED  BOOKSHOP 

SHANDYGAFF 

MINCE  PIE 

SONGS  FOR  A  LITTLE  HOUSE 
THE  ROCKING  HORSE 

IN  THE  SWEET  DRY  AND  DRY 
(With  BART  HALEY) 


"O,  I'm  so  glad  you're  going  to  read  your  notes  to  Mr.  Blair,'* 
she  said  mischievously.  "They  are  fascinating  and  there's 
such  a  jolly  lot  of  them." 


KATHLEEN 


BY 
CHRISTOPHER   MORLEY 


FRONTISPIECE 

BY 
WALLACE    MORGAN 


DOUBLEDAV,    PAGE   &   COMPANY 

GARDEN  CITY  NEW   YORK  LONDON 

1920 


COPYRIGHT,    1920,   BY 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF 

TRANSLATION  INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES, 

INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT,  igiS,  BY  THE  METROPOLITAN  PUBLICATIONS,  INC.' 


TO 
THE   REAL   KATHLEEN 

With  Apologies 


M125074 


KATHLEEN 


KATHLEEN 
i 

HP  HE  Scorpions  were  to  meet  at 
1  eight  o'clock  and  before  that  hour 
Kenneth  Forbes  had  to  finish  the  first 
chapter  of  a  serial  story.  The  liter 
ary  society,  named  in  accordance  with 
the  grotesque  whim  of  Oxford  under 
graduates,  consisted  of  eight  members, 
and  it  was  proposed  that  each  one 
should  contribute  a  chapter.  Forbes 
was  of  a  fertile  wit,  and  hej[had_  been 
nominated  the  first  operator.  He  had 
been  allowed  the  whole  Christmas  va 
cation  to  prepare  his  opening  chapter; 

3 


LEEN 

which  was  why  on  this  first  Sunday  of 
term  while  the  rest  of  Merton  College 
was  at  dinner  in  hall,  he  sat  at  his  desk 
desperately  driving  his  pen  across  the 
paper. 

Forbes's  room  in  Fellows'  Quad  was 
one  of  those  that  had  housed  Queen 
Henrietta  Maria  in  1643,  and  though 
Forbes's  own  tastes  were  nondescript  the 
chamber  still  had  something  of  an  air. 
The  dark  wood  panelling  might  well 
have  done  honour  to  a  royal  lodger,  and 
a  motion-picture  producer  would  have 
coveted  it  as  a  background  for  Mary 
Pickford.  It  was  unspoiled  by  pic 
tures:  two  or  three  political  maps  of 
Europe,  sketchily  drawn  with  coloured 
crayons,  were  pinned  up  here  and  there. 
The  room  was  a  typical  Oxford  apart 
ment  :  dark,  a  little  faded,  but  redeemed 


KATHLE  EN  5 

by  the  grate  of  glowing  coals.  Behind 
the  chimney  two  recessed  seats  looked 
out  over  the  college  gardens;  long  red 
curtains  were  drawn  to  shut  out  the 
winter  draughts.  It  was  the  true  Eng 
lish  January — driving  squalls  of  rain, 
dampness,  and  devastating  chill.  The 
east  wind  brought  the  booming  toll 
from  Magdalen  tower  very  distinctly  to 
the  ear,  closely  followed  by  the  tinny 
chime  in  Fellows'  Quad.  It  was  half 
past  seven. 

Forbes  laid  down  his  pen,  looked 
quizzically  at  the  last  illegible  lines 
slanting  up  the  paper,  and  realized  that 
he  was  hungry.  His  untasted  tea  and 
anchovy  toast  still  stood  in  the  fender 
where  the  scout  had  put  them  three 
hours  before. 

He  switched  on  the  electric  light  over 


6  K ATH  LE  EN 

the  dining  table  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and,  dropping  on  the  sofa  before 
the  fire,  prodded  the  huge  lumps  of  soft 
coal  into  a  blaze.  The  triangular  slices 
of  anchovy  toast  were  cold  but  still  very 
good,  and  he  devoured  them  with  appe 
tite.  He  lit  a  cigarette  with  a  sigh  of 
content,  and  reflected  that  he  had  not 
crossed  his  name  off  hall.  Therefore 
he  must  pay  eighteen  pence  for  dinner, 
even  though  he  had  not  eaten  it.  Also 
there  lay  somewhat  heavily  on  his  mind 
the  fact  that  at  ten  the  next  morning 
he  must  read  to  his  tutor  an  essay 
on  "Danton  and  Robespierre/'  an 
essay  as  yet  unwritten.  That  would 
mean  a  very  early  rising  and  an  un 
comfortable  chilly  session  in  the  college 
library,  a  dismal  place  in  the  forenoon. 
Never  mind,  first  came  a  jolly  evening 


KATHLEEN  7 

with  the  Scorpions.  The  meetings  were 
always  fun,  and  this  one,  coming  after 
the  separation  of  a  six-weeks'  vaca 
tion,  promised  special  sport.  Carter 
was  down  for  a  paper  on  Rabelais; 
King  would  have  some  of  his  amusing 
ballades  and  rondeaus;  and  above  all 
there  would  be  the  first  chapter  of  the 
serial,  from  which  the  members  prom 
ised  themselves  much  diversion.  It 
was  too  late  now  to  attempt  anything 
on  Danton  and  Robespierre;  he  picked 
up  a  volume  of  Belloc  and  sat  cosily  by 
the  fire. 

A  thumping  tread  sounded  on  the 
winding  stairs,  then  the  faint  clink  of  a 
large  metal  tray  laid  on  the  serving 
table  outside,  and  a  muffled  knock  at 
the  "oak,"  the  thick  outer  door  which 
Forbes  had  "sported"  when  he  came  in 


8  KATHLEEN 

at  six  to  write  his  stint.  He  unfastened 
the  barrier  and  admitted  Hinton,  the 
scout,  who  bore  in  a  tray  of  eatables, 
ordered  by  Forbes  from  the  college 
store-room  for  the  refreshment  of  his 
coming  guests.  Forbes,  like  most  men 
of  modest  means,  made  it  a  point  of 
honour  to  entertain  lavishly  when  it 
was  his  turn  as  host,  and  the  display  set 
out  by  Hinton  made  an  attractive  still 
life  under  the  droplight.  A  big  bowl  of 
apples  and  oranges  stood  in  the  centre; 
tin  boxes  from  Huntley  and  Palmer, 
a  couple  of  large  iced  cakes,  raisins, 
nuts,  and  a  dish  of  candied  fruits  ended 
the  solids.  There  was  also  a  tray  of 
coffee  cups  and  a  huge  silver  coffee  pot 
bearing  the  college  arms,  flanked  by  a 
porcelain  jug  of  hot  milk.  De  Reszke 
cigarettes,  whiskey  and  soda,  and  a  new 


KATH  LE  EN  9 

tin  of  John  Cotton  smoking  mixture 
completed  the  spread — which  would  be 
faithfully  reflected  in  Forbes's  "battels," 
or  weekly  bills,  later  on.  Young  men 
at  Oxford  do  themselves  well,  and  this 
was  a  typical  lay-out  for  an  under 
graduate  evening. 

Hinton,  a  ruddy  old  man  with  iron- 
gray  hair  and  a  very  red  and  bulby 
nose,  was  a  garrulous  servant,  and 
after  a  tentative  cough  made  an  at 
tempt  at  small  talk. 

"  I  didn't  see  you  in  'all  to-night,  sir/' 

"No,"  said  Forbes,  "I  had  some 
writing  to  do,  Hinton." 

"Oh  yes,  sir,"  said  Hinton,  according 
to  the  invariable  formula  of  college  ser 
vants.  A  moment  later,  after  another 
embarrassed  cough,  he  began  again. 

"Very  wet  night,  sir;  they  say  the 


IO  K  ATH  LE  EN 

towpath  will  be  under  water  in  another 
day  or  so/' 

Forbes  was  not  a  rowing  man,  and 
the  probable  submerging  of  the  tow- 
path  was  not  news  that  affected  him 
one  way  or  the  other.  His  only  reply 
was  to  ask  the  scout  to  refill  the  coal 
scuttle.  For  this  task  Hinton  donned 
an  old  pair  of  gloves  and  carried  in 
several  large  lumps  of  coal  in  his  hands 
from  the  bin  outside.  Then  he  dis 
appeared  into  the  adjoining  bedroom  to 
pour  out  a  few  gallons  of  very  cold 
water  into  Forbes's  hip  bath,  to  turn 
down  the  sheets,  lay  out  his  pajamas, 
and  remove  a  muddy  pair  of  boots  to 
be  cleaned.  Such  are  the  customs  that 
make  sweet  the  lives  of  succeeding 
undergraduates  at  Oxford.  It  is  pleas 
ant  to  know  that  Palmerston,  Pitt, 


KATHLEEN  H 

Gladstone,  Asquith — they  have  all  gone 
through  the  old  routine.  Forbes's  father 
had  occupied  the  very  same  rooms, 
thirty  years  before,  and  very  likely  old 
Hinton,  then  a  "scout's  boy/'  had 
blacked  his  boots.  Certainly  Forbes 
senior  had  lain  in  the  same  bedroom  and 
watched  Magdalen  Tower  through  the 
trees  while  delaying  to  get  up  on  chilly 
mornings. 

"Anything  else  to-night,  sir?"  said 
Hinton,  as  Forbes  put  down  Belloc  and 
began  to  clean  a  very  crusty  briar. 

"Nothing  to-night." 

r'Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Hinton  and 
took  his  departure,  after  poking  up  the 
fire  and  removing  the  dead  tea  things. 

The  eight  o'clock  chimes  spoke  as 
Hinton  clumped  downstairs,  and  a  few 
moments  later  Forbes's  guests  began  to 


12  KATHLE  EN 

straggle  in.  All  were  wet  and  ruddy 
from  rain  and  wind,  and,  as  they  dis 
carded  raincoats  and  caps,  disclosed  a 
pleasant  medley  of  types.  The  Scor 
pions  was  a  rather  recent  and  informal 
society,  but  it  had  gathered  from 
various  colleges  a  little  band  of  temper 
amental  congenials  who  found  a  unique 
pleasure  in  their  Sunday  evening  meet 
ings.  None  of  them  was  of  the  ac 
knowledged  literary  successes  of  the 
university:  their  names  were  not  those 
seen  every  week  in  the  undergraduate 
journals.  And  yet  this  obscure  group, 
which  had  drawn  together  in  a  spirit  of 
satire,  had  in  it  two  or  three  men  of 
real  gift.  Forbes  himself  was  a  man 
of  uncommon  vivacity.  Small,  stocky, 
with  an  unruly  thatch  of  yellow  hair 
and  a  quaintly  wry  and  homely  face,  he 


KATHLEEN  13 

hid  his  shyness  and  his  brilliancy  be 
hind  a  brusque  manner.  Ostensibly 
cynical  and  a  witty  satirist  of  his  more 
sentimental  fellows,  his  desk  was  full  of 
charming  ballades  and  pieces  d?  amour, 
scratched  off  at  white  heat  in  odd 
moments.  His  infinite  fund  of  full- 
flavoured  jest  had  won  him  the  nickname 
of  Priapus.  But  beneath  the  uncouth 
exterior  of  the  man,  behind  his  careless 
dress  and  humorously  assumed  coarse 
ness,  lay  the  soul  of  a  poet — sensitive 
as  a  girl,  and  devout  before  the  whisper 
ings  of  Beauty. 

Stephen  Carter  and  Randall  King 
were  first  to  arrive,  and  seized  the  ends 
of  the  fireside  couch  while  Forbes 
poured  their  coffee. 

"A  Clark  Russell  of  an  evening !" 
said  Carter,  stretching  his  golfing 


14  KATHLEEN 

brogues  to  the  blaze.  "  Don't  you  love  a 
good  drenching,  downpouring  night? 
I  do!"  He  was  a  burly  full-blooded 
blond,  extravagantly  facetious  in  con 
vivial  moments,  and  a  mournful  brood 
er  in  solitude.  King,  better  known 
as  "The  Goblin/'  was  a  dark,  whimsical 
elf  in  thick  spectacles,  much  loved  in 
the  'varsity  dramatic  society  for  his 
brilliant  impersonations.  The  Goblin 
said  nothing  as  he  sipped  his  coffee  and 
gazed  at  the  fire. 

"There  you  go  again,  Falstaff!"  ex 
claimed  Forbes  to  Carter,  as  he  un 
locked  a  corner  cupboard  and  drew  out 
a  bottle  of  port.  "The  universal  en 
thusiast!  I  believe  you'll  be  enthusi 
astic  about  the  examiners  that  plough 
you!" 

"What,  Falstaff  get  ploughed?"  said 


K  ATHLE  EN  15 

a  vast  and  rather  handsome  newcomer, 
flinging  open  the  door  without  knock 
ing.  "I  think  he's  down  for  a  ruddy 
First ! "  This  was  Douglas  Whitney,  of 
Balliol. 

Carter's  only  answer  to  both  these 
remarks  was  to  drain  a  glass  of  the  port 
which  Forbes  was  decanting. 

"I  say,  Priapus,  what  vile  port!" 
he  said.  "Is  this  some  of  the  vintage 
you  crocked  poor  old  Hinton  with?" 

''Any  port  in  a  storm,  Falstaff," 
said  the  Goblin,  mildly. 

As  Forbes  was  pouring  out  the  coffee 
loud  shouts  of  "Minters!"  greeted  the 
next  arrival.  This  was  Johnny  Blair  of 
Tennessee  and  Trinity,  the  only  Ameri 
can  among  the  Scorpions.  Blair  was  a 
Rhodes  Scholar  whose  dulcet  Southern 
drawl  and  quaint  modes  of  speech  were  a 


l6  KATHLE  EN 

constant  delight  to  his  English  com 
rades.  His  great  popularity  in  his  own 
college  was  begun  by  his  introduction 
of  mint  julep,  which  had  given  him  his 
nickname. 

"Hello,  Minters!"  cried  Forbes. 
"What  cheer?" 

"Large  tabling  and  belly  cheer/7 
said  Blair,  quoting  his  favourite  Eliza 
bethan  author. 

By  the  time  Forbes  had  poured  out 
eight  cups  of  coffee  and  as  many  glasses 
of  wine,  Keith,  Graham,  and  Twiston 
had  come  in,  making  the  full  gathering. 
There  was  much  laughing  and  banter  as 
the  men  stood  round  the  table  or  by  the 
fire,  lighting  pipes  and  cigarettes,  and 
helping  themselves  to  fruit  and  cake. 
Finally,  when  everyone  was  settled 
in  a  semicircle  round  the  fire,  Forbes 


K  ATH  LEEN  IJ 

hammered  his  coffee  cup  with  a  spoon. 
According  to  the  custom  of  the  society 
the  host  of  the  evening  always  acted  as 
chairman. 

"The  meeting  will  please  come  to 
order/'  said  Forbes.  "Brother  Scor 
pions,  what  is  your  pleasure?  Has  the 
secretary  anything  to  report?" 

The  gatherings  of  the  Scorpions  were 
pleasingly  devoid  of  formality,  and  un- 
trammeled  by  parliamentary  conven 
tions.  There  were  no  minutes,  and 
the  only  officer  was  a  secretary  who 
sent  out  postal  cards  each  week,  re 
minding  the  members  of  the  time  and 
place  of  the  next  meeting. 

King,  puffing  happily  at  a  large  pipe, 
declared  that  no  official  business  re 
quired  attention. 

"Then  I  call  upon  Falstaff  for  his 


l8  KATH  LE  E  N 

delightful  paper  on  Rabelais/'  said 
Forbes. 

A  small  electric  reading  lamp  was 
propped  behind  Carter's  head,  and  the 
Scorpions  disposed  themselves  to  listen. 
Carter  pulled  an  untidy  manuscript 
from  his  pocket,  and  after  an  embar 
rassed  cough,  began  to  read. 

The  general  tenor  of  an  under 
graduate  essay  on  Rabelais,  intended 
for  the  intimacy  of  a  fireside  circle,  may 
readily  be  guessed.  The  general  thesis 
of  the  composition  was  of  course  to 
prove  that  Rabelais  was  by  no  means 
the  low-minded  old  dog  of  Puritan  con 
ception;  or,  as  Carter  put  it,  that  he 
was  "not  simply  a  George  Moore";  but 
that  his  amazing  writings  bore  witness 
throughout  to  a  high  and  devoted 
ethical  purpose.  It  is  even  conjectur- 


KATHLEEN  IQ 

able  that  Carter  may  have  said  puribus 
omnia  pura;  but  if  he  did  so,  it  was  with 
so  droll  an  accent  that  his  audience 
laughed  amain.  At  all  events  his  read 
ing  was  punctuated  with  cheery  ap 
plause,  and  at  the  conclusion  the 
Scorpions  renewed  their  acquaintance 
with  those  historic  affinities  whiskey 
and  soda.  Discussion  was  brisk. 

The  meditative  Goblin  then  was 
called  upon  for  his  poems;  and,  after 
becoming  hesitation,  unfolded  a  sheaf 
of  verses.  His  rhymes  were  always 
full  of  quaint  and  elvish  humour  which 
was  very  endearing.  His  ballade  with 
the  refrain  "  When  Harry  Baillie  kept  the 
Tabard  Inn,11  was  voted  the  best  of  the 
six  he  read. 

But  the  event  of  the  evening  was  to 
be  the  serial  story,  which  Forbes  had 


2O  KATHLEEN 

been  appointed  to  begin.  A  new  round 
of  refreshments  was  distributed,  and 
then  the  host  took  his  place  under  the 
reading  lamp. 

"This  needs  a  word  of  explanation," 
he  said.  "Having  the  whole  vacation 
to  work  on  this,  naturally  I  did  nothing 
until  tea  time  this  afternoon.  I  didn't 
even  have  an  idea  in  my  head  until 
yesterday.  About  four  o'clock  yester 
day  afternoon  I  was  strolling  down  the 
Broad  in  desperation.  You  know  when 
there  is  some  hateful  task  that  has  to  be 
done,  one  will  snatch  at  any  pretext  for 
postponing  it.  I  stopped  in  at  Black- 
well's  to  look  for  a  book  I  wanted.  Up 
in  one  corner  of  the  shop,  lying  on  a 
row  of  books,  I  found  this." 

I  mpressively  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
double  sheet  of  notepaper  and  held  it  up. 


K  ATH  LE  EN  21 

"It  was  a  letter,  evidently  written 
by  some  girl  to  a  man  at  the  'varsity. 
Finding  it  there,  forgotten  and  defense 
less,  I  could  not  resist  reading  it.  It 
was  a  very  charming  letter,  not  too 
intimate,  but  full  of  a  delicious  virgin 
coyness  and  reserve.  Then  a  great  idea 
struck  me.  Why  not  take  the  people 
mentioned  in  the  letter  and  use  them  as 
the  characters  of  our  story?  We  know 
that  they  are  real  people;  we  know  their 
first  names;  that's  all  we  know  about 
them.  The  rest  can  be  left  to  the  in 
vention  of  the  Scorpions." 

Generous  laughter  greeted  the  idea. 

"Let's  hear  the  letter!"  cried  some 
one. 

"Yes,"  said  Forbes,  "before  reading 
my  chapter  I'll  read  you  the  letter. 
And  then  remember  that  our  story  is 


22  KATHLEEN 

to  be  built  up  solely  upon  this  docu 
ment.  There  are  to  be  no  characters 
in  the  story  except  those  mentioned  in 
the  letter,  and  our  task  must  be  to 
delineate  them  in  such  a  way  that  they 
are  in  keeping  with  the  suggestions  the 
letter  gives  us.  Here  it  is/' 

X     X     X     X 

These  are  from  Fred. 

318,  BANCROFT  ROAD, 

WOLVERHAMPTON. 
October  30,  1912. 
DEAR  JOE: 

Thank  you  so  much  for  the  tie — it  is 
pretty  and  I  do  wear  ties  sometimes,  so  I 
shaVt  let  the  boys  have  it. 

You  must  think  me  rather  ungrateful 
not  writing  before,  but  I  have  been  out  the 
last  two  evenings  and  have  had  no  time  for 
letters.  Yesterday  Mother  and  I  went  to 
Birmingham  as  I  had  my  half-term  holiday. 
I  hope  you  managed  to  get  some  tea 


KATHLEEN  23 

after  writing  to  me,  otherwise  I  shall  feel  so 
grieved  to  think  I  was  the  cause  of  your 
starvation.  By  the  way,  I  read  your  latest 
poem  and  I  don't  like  it — not  that  that  will 
trouble  you  much  I'm  sure.  The  idea 
isn't  at  all  bad,  but  that's  all  I  like  about  it. 

I  haven't  a  bit  of  news,  and  I  have  just 
found  out  it  is  too  late  to  catch  the  post 
to-night,  so  you  will  have  to  wait  a  little 
longer  for  this  precious  letter — it  will  be 
precious,  won't  it? 

Charlie  has  just  come  home  from  his 
class,  so  I  must  bring  his  food  for  him. 
Daddy's  lumbago  is  better,  I'm  glad  to  say. 

Good-night,  and  with  many  thanks 
I  remain 

Yours, 

KATHLEEN. 

Excuse  this  scrawl,  but  the  pen's  groggy. 

A  moment  of  silence  followed  the 
reading  of  the  letter. 

"Joe's  a  lucky  boy,"  said  Whitney. 
"She's  a  darling." 


24  KATHLEEN 

"The  letter  doesn't  tell  us  much," 
said  Forbes,  as  he  handed  it  round  for 
examination;  "but  more  than  you 
might  think.  Before  writing  my  chapter 
I  summarized  the  data.  Here  they  are : 

"i.  Joe.  He's  a  member  of  the 
'varsity  who  writes  poetry.  Either  it's 
published  in  some  magazine  or  he  sends 
it  privately  to  her.  The  blighter  has 
sent  Kathleen  a  tie  of  some  kind — 
probably  a  scarf  with  his  college  or  club 
colours.  He's  got  as  far  as  the  plain 
tive  stage:  he  tells  her  that  he  is  going 
without  his  tea  just  to  write  to  her. 
(Probably  half  a  dozen  crumpets  and 
four  cups  of  tea  were  simmering  inside 
of  him  as  he  wrote).  So  much  for  Joe. 
I'll  wager  he's  a  Rhodes  Scholar! 

"2.  Kathleen.  I  put  her  at  seven 
teen,  and  (as  Whitney  says)  she's  a 


KATHLEEN  25 

darling.  She's  at  school  still.  She's 
adorably  sane.  She  doesn't  care  for 
Joe's  yowling  poetry  (probably  he  writes 
Verlaine  kind  of  stuff,  or  free  verse,  or 
some  blither  of  that  sort).  She  has 
younger  brothers  ('the  boys')  and  she 
helps  her  mother  run  the  house.  I 
think  she  likes  Joe  better  than  she  cares 
to  admit — see  the  touch  of  coquettish- 
ness  where  she  says  '  It  will  be  precious, 
won't  it?'  And  how  adorably  she 
teases  him  in  those  four  crosses  marked 
'These  are  from  Fred.'  Gad,  I'm 
jealous  of  Joe  already! 

"3.  Fred.  I  think  he's  the  older 
brother;  probably  recently  left  the 
Varsity ;  a  friend  of  Joe's,  perhaps. 

"4.  Charlie  is  one  of  the  younger 
brothers.  He  goes  to  some  kind  of 
night  school  or  gymnasium.  Probably 


26  KATHLEEN 

an  ugly  little  beggar.  Why  doesn't  he 
get  his  food  for  himself? 

"5.  The  Mother.  Don't  know  any 
thing  about  her  except  that  she  went  to 
Birmingham  with  Kathleen. 

"6.     The  Father.     Has  lumbago." 

"One  thing  you  don't  mention,"  said 
Graham.  "It's  an  easy  run  from  here 
to  Wolverhampton  on  a  motor  bike!" 

"Rather  a  sell  if  Joe  should  turn  out 
a  boxing  blue,  and  mash  us  all  into 
pulp  for  bagging  his  letter!"  said 
Whitney.  There  was  a  general  laugh 
at  this.  Whitney  was  over  six  feet, 
rowed  number  5  in  the  Balliol  boat,  and 
was  nicknamed  the  Iron  Duke  for  his 
muscular  strength. 

"Go  on  with  your  chapter,  Priapus." 
said  the  Goblin. 


II 

WHEN  Forbes  had  finished  there 
was  general  laughter  and  ap 
plause.  The  whimsical  idea  of  building 
a  tale  around  the  persons  of  the  letter 
was  one  which  his  playful  mind  was 
competent  to  develop,  and  he  had  writ 
ten  a  deft  and  amusing  introduction. 
Taking^' Joe"  as  his  subject  he  had 
sketched  that  gentleman's  character 
with  a  touch  of  irony.  He  had  made 
him  a  Rhodes  Scholar  from  Indiana 
(evoking  good-natured  protest  from 
Minters)  and  had  carried  him  on  a 
vacation  to  Guilford  House,  a  small 

hotel  in  London  much  frequented  by 

27 


28  KATHLEEN 

Rhodes  Scholars.  There  he  had  made 
him  meet  Kathleen  who,  with  her 
mother,  was  staying  in  London  for  a  few 
days.  Forbes  had  a  taste  for  brunettes, 
and  in  his  description  of  the  imagined 
Kathleen  he  had  indulged  himself 
heartily.  He  found  her  to  be  seventeen, 
slender,  with  that  strong  slimness  that 
only  an  English  girl  achieves;  with  a 
straight  brown  gaze  and  abundant  dark 
chestnut  hair.  She  was  captain  of  her 
school  hockey  team,  it  seemed;  she  was 
good  at  tennis  and  swimming  and 
geometry;  she  had  small  patience  with 
poetry  and  sentiment.  But  within  the 
athletic  and  straightforward  flapper 
Forbes  thought  he  saw  the  fluttering  of 
deeper  womanhood;  the  maiden  soul 
erecting  a  barrier  of  abrupt  common 
sense  about  itself  to  conceal  the  shy  and 


KATHLE  EN  2Q 

sensitive  feelings  that  were  beginning 
to  blossom.  Such  at  any  rate  was 
Kenneth  Forbes's  psycho-analysis,  and 
he  developed  his  chapter  toward  a 
climax  where  Kathleen  and  Joe  were 
left  walking  in  Regent's  Park,  and  the 
next  author  would  find  some  difficulty 
in  knowing  how  to  proceed  with  the 
second  instalment. 

"Well  done  indeed!"  cried  Blair,  as 
Forbes  laid  down  his  manuscript  and 
reached  for  his  pipe.  There  was  a 
general  murmur  of  assent  as  the  men 
got  up  to  stretch  and  talk.  Someone 
punched  the  coals  into  flame,  and  the 
bowl  of  fruit  was  passed  round. 

"Who's  to  write  the  next  chapter?" 
asked  Graham. 

"Let  Falstaff  do  it!"  cried  Blair. 
"He's  the  sentimentalist!  But  go  easy 


3O  KATHLEEN 

on  poor  Joe.  You  know  all  Rhodes 
Scholars  don't  come  from  Indiana! 
Have  a  heart!" 

"  Do  whatever  you  like  to  Joe!"  cried 
Forbes;  " But  be  careful  with  Kathleen! 
She's  adorable!  I'm  going  to  write  a 
ballade  to  her  and  mail  it  to  her  anony 
mously." 

"I  wish  there  was  some  way  of 
getting  hold  of  her  picture,"  said 
Keith. 

"  Her  picture?  "  said  Graham.  "Non 
sense!  Why  not  see  the  flapper  her 
self?  I'm  going  to  bike  over  there 
on  my  Rudge,  erb  round  till  I  find 
the  street,  and  then  skid  like  hell 
right  on  to  her  doorstep.  I  shall  lie 
there  in  mute  agony  until  I'm  carried 
indoors." 

"I  say,  now,  that's  no  fair!"  cried 


KATHLEEN  31 

Forbes.  "I  discovered  her!  Just  be 
cause  you've  got  a  motor  bike  you 
mustn't  take  an  advantage!" 

"Look  here/'  said  the  Goblin,  mildly, 
speaking  from  a  blue  cloud  of  Murray's 
Mixture,  "we  must  all  sign  a  protocol, 
or  a  mandamus  or  a  lagniappe  or  what 
ever  you  law  men  call  it,  not  to  steal  a 
march.  I  think  we'd  all  like  to  meet 
the  real  Kathleen.  But  we  must  give  a 
bond  to  start  fair  and  square,  and  no 
body  do  anything  that  isn't  authorized 
by  the  whole  club." 

"Right-O!"  cried  several  voices. 

"All  right,  then,"  said  the  Goblin, 
"fill  glasses  everyone,  and  we'll  solem 
nize  the  oath.  Brother  Scorpions,  I  do 
you  to  wit  that  we  all,  jointly  and 
severally,  promise  not  to  take  any  steps 
toward  making  the  acquaintance  of  said 


32  KATHLEEN 

Kathleen  until  so  authorized  by  the 
whole  society.  So  help  me  God!" 

They  all  drank  to  this,  with  some 
chuckles. 

"What  a  lark  if  we  could  get  Kath 
leen  down  for  Eights  Week!"  said  some 
one. 

"Very  likely  Joe  will  have  her  here," 
said  Whitney.  "You  seem  to  forget 
that  he's  been  rowing  this  course  for 
some  time." 

They  all  scowled. 

"  I  wonder  how  many  members  of  the 
Varsity  are  called  Joe?"  Keith  asked. 

"About  three  hundred,  I  dare  say," 
said  Falstaff. 

"I  tell  you  what  we  might  do,"  said 
Forbes.  "When  the  yarn's  finished  we 
can  send  it  to  her,  explain  just  how  the 
whole  thing  happened,  and  ask  permis- 


K  ATHLE  EN  33 

sion  to  call.  She's  got  a  sense  of 
humour,  I'll  swear!" 

"Balmy!"  retorted  Falstaff.  "She'd 
probably  be  frightfully  fed  because  you 
bagged  her  letter!  'S  a  hell  of  a  thing 
to  do,  crib  a  lady's  letter!" 

"  It's  a  hell  of  a  thing  to  do  to  leave  it 
lying  around!"  cried  Forbes,  impeni 
tent.  "No  quarter  for  Joebags!  Let 
the  punishment  fit  the  crime." 

"Well,  you  chaps,  I've  got  to  sheer 
off,"  said  Whitney.  "It's  nearly 
eleven  and  I've  got  an  essay  on  the 
stocks.  Cheer-o  Priapus,  I've  had  a 
ripping  time." 

"  'Arf  amo,'  "cried  Forbes.  "Who's 
to  do  the  next  chapter,  and  where  do 
we  meet  next  week?" 

"Falstaff !"  cried  several  voices. 

"Why  not  do  two  chapters  a  week," 


34  KATHLEEN 

said  Carter.     "I'll  do  one,  and  Goblin 
can   do   another.     Let's   meet   in   my 


rooms." 


This  was  agreed  to,  and  after  much 
scuffling  with  greatcoats  and  scarves 
the  guests  tramped  off  down  the  stairs 
and  out  into  the  rainy  quad.  Forbes 
could  hear  them,  a  minute  later,  thun 
dering  with  their  heels  on  the  huge 
iron-studded  college  gate  as  they  waited 
for  the  porter  to  let  them  out.  The 
room  was  foul  with  smoke,  and  he 
opened  a  window  over  the  gardens  let 
ting  in  a  gush  of  chill  sweet  air  and  rain. 
Through  the  darkness  he  could  hear 
many  chimes,  counting  eleven.  He 
looked  wearily  at  the  scribbled  notes 
for  his  essay  on  Danton  and  Robe 
spierre:  then  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
went  to  bed. 


Ill 

BY  THE  time  that  Carter  and  King 
had  written  their  chapters  and  read 
them  aloud,  the  Scorpions  were  all 
frankly  adorers  of  Kathleen;  by  mid 
term  she  had  become  an  obsession. 
Eric  Twiston  and  Bob  Graham,  "doing 
a  Cornstalk"  (as  walking  on  Corn- 
market  Street  is  elegantly  termed) 
were  wont  to  dub  any  really  delightful 
girl  they  saw  as  "a  Kathleen  sort  of 
person."  At  the  annual  dinner  of  the 
club,  which  took  place  in  a  private 
dining  room  at  the  "Clarry"  (the 
Clarendon  Hotel)  in  February,  Forbes 
was  called  upon  to  respond  to  the  toast 

35 


36  KATHLEEN 

"The  Real  Kathleen."  His  voice,  tre 
mulous  with  emotion  and  absinthe 
frappe,  nearly  failed  him;  but  he 
managed  to  stammer  a  few  phrases 
which,  thought  at  the  time  to  be 
extemporaneous,  called  forth  loud  ap 
plause;  but  it  was  found  later  that  he 
had  jotted  them  down  on  the  tablecloth 
during  the  soup  and  fish  courses. 
"Fellow  Scorpers,"  he  said,  "I  mean 
you  chaps,  look  here,  I'm  not  much  at 
this  dispatch-box  business,  but — hem — 
I  want  to  say  that  I  regard  Kathleen 
with  feelings  of  iridescent  emotion.  I 
feel  sure  that  she  is  a  pronounced 
brunette  and  that  the  Blue  Flapper  we 
all  used  to  see  at  the  East  Ocker  is 
nowhere.  I've  been  playing  lackers 
(lacrosse)  this  term  and  I  give  you  my 
word  that  when  I've  been  bloodv  well 


KATHLEEN  37 

done  in  and  had  an  absolute  needle  of 
funk  I  had  only  to  think  of  Kathleen  to 
buck  me  up.  Hem.  Now  gentlemen, 
you  may  think  I'm  drunk  (loud  cries  of 
No!)  but  I  want  to  say  in  truth  and 
soberness  that  any  man  who  thinks  he's 
got  Kathleen  for  bondwoman — hem — 
has  me  to  reckon  with!" 

The  applause  at  this  speech  was  so 
immoderate  that  a  party  of  Boston 
ladies  dining  with  a  Chautauqua  lec 
turer  in  the  Clarendon's  main  dining 
room,  shuddered  and  began  looking  up 
time-tables  to  Stratford. 

By  this  time  the  serial  story  had 
grown  to  the  length  of  seven  or  eight 
chapters,  and  the  Scorpions  became  so 
engrossed  in  the  fortunes  of  the  Ken- 
yons  (so,  for  convenience,  they  had 
dubbed  Kathleen's  family)  that  at  the 


38  KATHLEEN 

dinner  a  separate  health  was  drunk  to 
each  character  in  the  story,  and  one  of 
the  members  was  called  upon  to  reply. 
Falstaff  Carter  responded  to  the  toast 
to  "Joe,"  and  recounted  his  secret  in 
vestigations  into  the  number  of  mem 
bers  of  the  university  who  bore  that 
name.  He  claimed  to  have  tabulated 
from  the  university  almanac  256  men 
so  christened,  and  offered  to  go  into  the 
life  history  of  any  or  all  of  them.  He 
said  that  he  was  happy  to  say  that  the 
only  Joseph  who  seemed  at  all  likely  to 
be  a  poet  was  a  scrubby  little  man  at 
Teddy  Hall,  who  wore  spectacles  and  a 
ragged  exhibitioner's  gown  and  did  not 
seem  to  threaten  a  serious  rivalry  to 
any  Scorpion  bent  on  supplanting  him. 
"I  also  find,"  he  added,  "that  the 
master  of  the  New  College  and  Mag- 


KATHLEEN  39 

dalen  beagles  is  called  Joe.  He  is  a 
member  of  the  Bullingdon,  and  if  he 
is  the  cheese  it's  distinctly  mooters 
whether  any  of  the  Scorpers  have  a 
ghostly  show;  but  I  vote,  gentlemen, 
that  we  don't  crock  at  this  stage  of  the 
game." 

It  was  decided  at  the  dinner  that 
during  the  ensuing  Easter  vacation  the 
Scorpions  should  make  a  trip  to  Wolver- 
hampton,  en  masse,  for  the  purpose  of 
picketing  Bancroft  Road  and  finding 
out  what  Kathleen  was  really  like. 
And  then,  after  singing  "langers  and 
godders"  (Auld  Lang  Syne  and  God 
Save  the  King)  the  meeting  broke  up 
and  the  members  dispersed  darkly  in 
various  directions  to  avoid  the  proctors. 


IV 

FRIDAY  the  fifteenth  of  March  was 
the  last  day  of  term.  The  Scor 
pions,  busy  in  their  various  ways  with 
the  hundred  details  that  have  to  be 
attended  to  before  "going  down,"  were 
all  pleasantly  excited  by  the  anticipa 
tion  of  their  quest,  which  was  to  begin  on 
the  morrow.  Carter,  shaking  hands 
with  the  warden  of  New  College  in  the 
college  hall  (a  pleasant  little  formality 
performed  at  the  end  of  each  term) 
absent-mindedly  replied  "Wolver- 
hampton"  when  the  warden  asked  him 
where  he  was  going  to  spend  the  vaca 
tion.  He  was  then  hard  put  to  it  to 
40 


K  ATH  LE  EN  41 

avoid  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the 
vicar  of  St.  Philip's  in  that  city,  an  old 
pupil  of  the  warden.  King,  bicycling 
rapidly  down  the  greasy  Turl  with  an 
armful  of  books,  collided  vigorously  with 
another  cyclist  at  the  corner  of  the  High. 
They  both  sprawled  on  the  curb,  bikes 
interlocked.  "My  god,  sir!"  cried  the 
Goblin;  "Why  not  watch  where  you're 
going?"  Then  he  saw  it  was  Johnny 
Blair.  "Sorry,  Goblin,"  said  the  lat 
ter;  "I — I  was  thinking  about  Kath 
leen."  "So  was  I,"  said  King,  picking 
up  his  books.  And  in  defiance  of  the 
University  statute  of  1636  (still  unre- 
pealed)  which  warns  students  against 
"frequenting  dicing  houses,  taverns,  or 
booths  where  the  nicotian  herb  is  sold," 
they  went  into  Hedderly's  together  to 
buy  tobacco. 


42  KATHLEEN 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning 
they  were  all  in  cabs  on  their  way  to  the 
Great  Western  Station.  It  was  a  mild 
and  sunny  day,  with  puffs  of  spring  in 
the  air.  Who  can  ever  forget  the 
Saturday  morning  at  the  end  of  term 
when  the  men  "go  down"?  Long  lines 
of  hansoms  spinning  briskly  toward  the 
station,  with  bulging  portmanteaus  on 
the  roof;  the  wide  sunny  sweep  of  the 
Broad  with  the  'bus  trundling  past 
Trinity  gates;  a  knot  of  tall  youths  in 
the  Varsity  uniform  of  gray  "bags" 
and  brown  tweed  norfolk,  smoking  and 
talking  at  the  Balliol  lodge — and  over  it 
all  the  clang  of  a  hundred  chimes,  the 
gray  fingers  of  a  thousand  spires  and 
pinnacles,  the  moist  blue  sky  of  Eng 
land.  .  .  .  Ah,  it  is  the  palace  of 
vouth,  or  it  was  once. 


KATHLEEN  43 

The  Scorpions  met  on  the  dingy 
north-bound  platform.  Graham,  Keith, 
and  Twiston  had  been  obliged  to  scratch 
owing  to  other  more  imperative  plans; 
but  five  members  boarded  the  10  o'clock 
train  in  high  spirits.  Forbes,  Carter, 
King,  Blair,  and  Whitney — they  filled  a 
third-class  smokerwith  tobacco  and  jest. 

"Now,  Goblin/'  cried  Falstaff,  as  the 
train  ran  past  the  Port  Meadow,  and 
the  Radcliffe  dome  dropped  from  view; 
"Open  those  sealed  orders !  You  prom 
ised  to  draw  up  the  rules  of  the  game." 

King  pulled  a  paper  from  his  pocket. 

"  I  jotted  down  some  points,"  he  said. 
"This  is  the  time  to  discuss  them. 

"  Rules  to  be  Observed  by  the  Scorpions  on 

tbe  Great  Kathleen  Excursion 
"  i .     The  headquarters  of  the  expedition 
will  be  the  Blue  Boar  Inn  at  Wolverhamp- 


44  KATH  LEEN 

ton.  (Pve  written  to  them  to  engage 
rooms.) 

"2.  The  Kriegspiel  will  begin  to-day  at 
2  P.  M.,  and  manoeuvres  will  continue  with 
out  intermission  until  someone  is  declared 
the  winner,  or  until  time  is  called. 

"  3.  The  object  of  the  contest  is  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  Kathleen ;  to  engage  her 
in  friendly  conversation;  to  win  her  con 
fidence,  and  to  induce  her  to  accept  an 
invitation  to  Commem,  or  Eights  Week. 

"4.  Any  deception,  strategy,  or  tactics 
which  are  not  calculated  to  give  intolerable 
distress  or  embarrassment  to  Kathleen  and 
her  family,  are  allowable. 

"5.  If  by  noon  on  Tuesday  no  one  shall 
have  succeeded  in  making  friends  with 
Kathleen,  the  game  shall  be  declared  off." 

''Suppose  she's  not  at  home?"  said 
Whitney. 

"Well  have  to  chance  that." 
"  What  time  do  we  get  there?" 
"I've  ordered    lunch    at    the    Blue 


KATHLEEN  45 

Boar  at  one  o'clock.    This  train  gets  to 
Wolversat  12:30." 

It  was  a  merry  ride.  The  story  of 
Kathleen  as  they  had  written  it  was 
discussed  pro  and  con.;  the  usual  pro 
tests  were  launched  at  Carter  for  hav 
ing  in  his  chapter  lowered  the  theme 
to  the  level  of  burlesque;  praise  was 
accorded  to  the  Goblin  for  the  dexterity 
with  which  he  had  rescued  the  plot. 
Blair's  chapter  had  been  full  of  Amer 
ican  slang  which  had  to  be  explained  to 
the  others.  "Joe,"  the  Rhodes  Scholar 
hero,  had  shown  a  vein  of  fine  gold  un 
der  Blair's  hands:  he  bade  fair  to  win 
the  charming  Kathleen,  although  the 
story  had  not  been  finished  owing  to  the 
examinations  which  had  fallen  upon  the 
brotherhood  toward  the  end  of  term. 
The  game,  begun  in  pure  jest,  had  taken 


46  KATHLEEN 

on  something  of  romantic  earnest: 
there  was  not  one  of  these  young  men 
who  did  not  see  in  Kathleen  his  own 
ideal  of  slender,  bright-cheeked  girlhood. 
And  when  the  train  pulled  into  Wolver- 
hampton,  they  tumbled  out  of  their 
smoking  carriage  with  keen  expectation. 


F)ERHAPS  the  best  way  to  pursue 
1  the  next  episodes  in  the  quest  is  in 
the  words  of  Johnny  Blair,  the  Rhodes 
Scholar,  who  jotted  down  some  notes  in 
a  journal  he  kept: 

We  got  to  Wolverhampton  12:25, 
Ingersoll  time.  Had  a  jolly  trip  on  the 
train,  all  the  Scorps  laying  bets  as  to 
who  would  be  first  to  meet  Kathleen. 
I  lay  low,  but  did  some  planning. 
Didn't  want  to  let  these  English 
blighters  get  ahead  of  me,  especially 
after  all  the  ragging  Indiana  Joe  got  in 
the  story. 

Train    stopped    at    Birmingham    at 

47 


48  KATHLEEN 

noon.  My  tobacco  pouch  had  run 
empty,  and  I  hopped  out  to  buy  some 
Murray's  at  the  newsstand.  Saw  the 
prettiest  flapper  of  my  life  on  the  plat 
form — the  real  English  type;  tweed 
suit,  dark  hair,  gray  eyes,  and  cheeks 
like  almond  blossoms.  She  had  on  a 
blue  tam-o'  shanter.  Loveliest  figure  I 
ever  saw,  perfect  ankle,  but  the  usual 
heavy  brogues  on  her  feet.  Why  do 
English  girls  always  wear  woollen 
stockings?  Was  so  taken  with  her  I 
almost  missed  the  train.  She  got  into 
a  third-class  compartment  farther  up 
the  train.  The  others  were  all  bickering 
in  the  smoking  carriage,  so  they  didn't 
see  her. 

I  scored  over  the  rest  of  the  crowd 
when  we  got  to  Wolvers.  They  had 
all  brought  heavy  portmanteaus,  con- 


KATHLEEN  49 

taining  all  their  vacation  baggage.  My 
idea  was,  go  light  when  chasing  the 
Grail.  Had  only  my  rucksack,  left 
rest  of  my  stuff  at  coll.,  to  be  forwarded 
later.  While  the  other  chaps  were  get 
ting  their  stuff  out  of  the  goods  van  I 
spotted  Miss  Flapper  getting  off  the 
train.  She  got  into  a  hansom.  Just 
by  dumb  luck  I  was  standing  near.  I 
heard  her  say  to  cabby:  "318,  Bancroft 
Road!"  Lord,  was  I  tickled?  I  kept 
mum. 

Most  of  the  fellows  took  cabs,  on 
account  of  their  luggage,  but  Goblin 
and  I  hoofed  it.  Wolverhampton 
seems  a  dingy  place  for  Kathleen  to 
live!  Fine  old  church,  though,  and 
lovely  market  place.  We  kept  our 
eyes  open  for  Bancroft  Road,  but  saw 
no  sign. 


50  KATHLEEN 

When  we  got  to  the  Blue  Boar,  lunch 
was  all  ready  for  us  in  the  coffee  room. 
Landlord  tickled  to  death  at  our  arrival. 
Wonderful  cheddar  cheese,  and  arch 
deacon  ale.  We  made  quite  a  cere 
mony  of  it — all  drank  Kathleen's 
health,  and  on  the  stroke  of  two  we  got 
up  from  the  table. 

All  the  others  beat  it  off  immediately 
in  different  directions — looking  for  Ban 
croft  Road,  I  expect.  I  had  an  idea 
that  more  finesse  would  be  needed.  I 
started  off  with  the  others,  then  pre 
tended  I  had  left  my  pipe,  and  came 
back  to  the  Boar.  I  was  going  to  look 
up  the  town  directory,  to  find  Kath 
leen's  name — knowing  the  address,  that 
would  be  easy.  But  there  was  Goblin 
doing  the  same  thing !  We  both  laughed 
and  looked  it  up  together.  The  name 


K  ATH  LE  EN  5! 

at  318,  Bancroft  Road  was  Kent, 
Philip  Kent,  F.  S.  A.,  Fellow  of  the 
Society  of  Antiquaries,  I  suppose:  the 
book  put  him  down  as  an  "antiquar 
ian."  Kathleen's  father,  evidently. 

Goblin  disappeared  in  that  noiseless 
way  of  his,  and  I  lit  a  pipe  and  pon 
dered. 

The  fellows  had  been  full  of  wild 
suggestions  as  to  what  they  would  do 
when  they  got  to  318,  Bancroft  Road. 
One  was  going  to  be  a  book  agent  and 
get  into  the  house  that  way.  Another 
said  he  would  be  the  grocer's  man  and 
make  friends  with  the  cook.  Someone 
else  suggested  dressing  up  as  a  plumber 
or  gas-man,  and  going  there  to  fix  some 
imaginary  leak.  Knowing  that  the 
Kents  were  not  fools,  I  imagined  it 
wouldn't  be  long  before  they'd  get  wise 


52  KATH  LEEN 

to  the  fact  that  that  bunch  of  dread 
noughts  was  picketing  the  house. 
Probably  they'd  put  the  police  on 
them.  Also,  there's  nobody  harder  to 
disguise  than  an  English  'varsity  man. 
He  gives  himself  away  at  every  turn. 
If  "Fred"  was  around  he'd  be  sure  to 
smell  a  rat.  One  of  those  chaps  would 
be  likely  to  fake  himself  up  as  a  plumb 
er,  and  get  in  the  house  on  some  pre 
text  or  other — still  wearing  his  wrist- 
watch  ! 

I  thought  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea 
to  stay  away  from  Bancroft  Road  for  a 
while  and  try  to  pull  wires  from  a  dis 
tance. 

The  Blue  Boar  Inn — a  very  nice  old 
house,  by  the  way — looks  out  over  the 
old  Wolverhampton  market  place.  In 
one  corner  of  the  square  I  had  noticed  a 


KATHLEEN  53 

little  post  office.  You  can  send  a  tele 
gram  from  any  post  office  in  England, 
and  I  thought  that  would  be  my  best 
entering  wedge.  The  word  "antiquar 
ian"  in  the  directory  had  given  me  a 
notion.  On  a  blank  I  composed  the 
following  message,  after  some  revisions : 

Miss  KATHLEEN  KENT, 
318,  Bancroft  Road, 

WOLVERHAMPTON. 

My  friend  John  Blair  of  Trinity  now  in 
Wolverhampton  for  historical  study  stay 
ing  at  Blue  Boar  nice  chap  American  may 
he  call  on  you  if  so  send  him  a  line  sorry 
can't  write  hurt  hand  playing  soccer  love 
to  all. 

JOE. 

This  was  taking  a  long  chance,  but 
was  the  best  move  I  could  think  of.  I 
asked  the  lady  behind  the  counter  to 


54  KATHLEEN 

mark  the  telegram  as  though  it  came 
from  Oxford.  She  said  she  could  not 
do  so,  but  I  happened  to  have  a  five-bob 
piece  in  my  pocket  and  that  persuaded 
her.  I  convinced  her  that  it  was  a 
harmless  joke. 

I  didn't  see  that  there  was  any 
thing  further  to  be  done  immediately. 
If  the  telegram  brought  no  word  I 
should  have  to  think  up  something  else. 
In  the  meantime,  if  I  was  to  pose  as  an 
antiquarian  investigator  I  had  better 
get  up  some  dope  on  the  history  of 
Wolverhampton.  I  poked  about  until 
I  found  a  bookshop,  where  I  bought  a 
little  pamphlet  about  the  town,  and 
studied  a  map.  Bancroft  Road  was 
out  toward  the  northern  suburbs.  A 
little  talk  with  the  bookseller  brought 
me  the  information  that  Mr.  Kent  was 


K  ATH  LE  EN  55 

one  of  his  best  customers,  a  pleasant 
and  simple-minded  gentleman  of  sixty 
whose  only  hobby  was  the  history  of 
the  region.  He  had  written  a  book 
called  "Memorials  of  Old  Stafford 
shire/'  but  unfortunately  I  couldn't 
get  a  copy.  The  bookseller  said  it  was 
out  of  print. 

Then  I  went  to  have  a  look  at  St. 
Philip's  Church,  a  fine  old  Norman 
pile  with  some  lovely  brasses  and  cru 
saders'  tombs.  Here  I  had  a  piece  of 
luck — fell  in  with  the  vicar.  One  of 
the  jolly  old  port-wine  and  knicker- 
bocker  sort:  an  old  Oxford  man,  as  it 
happened.  I  pumped  him  a  little 
about  the  history  of  the  church,  and  in 
his  delight  at  finding  an  American  who 
cared  for  such  matters  he  talked  freely. 
"Why,"  he  kept  on  saying,  with  a  kind 


56  KATHLEEN 

of  pathetic  enthusiasm,  "I  thought  all 
you  Americans  were  interested  in  was 
Standard  Oil  and  tinned  beef."..*  Fi 
nally  he  invited  me  over  to  the  vicarage 
for  tea.  As  I  sat  by  his  fire  and  ate 
toasted  muffins  I  couldn't  help  chuck 
ling  to  think  how  different  this  was 
from  the  other  Scorpions'  plan  of 
attack.  They  were  probably  all  biting 
their  nails  up  and  down  Bancroft  Road 
trying  to  carry  the  fort  by  direct  as 
sault.  It's  amazing  how  things  turn 
out:  just  as  I  was  wondering  how  to 
give  the  conversation  a  twist  in  the 
right  direction,  the  vicar  said : 

"If  you're  really  interested  in  the 
history  of  this  region  you  should  cer 
tainly  have  a  talk  with  old  Mr.  Kent. 
He's  our  leading  antiquarian,  and  knows 
more  about  the  Stour  Valley  than  any 


KATHLEEN  57 

one  else.  He  says  there  was  a  skirmish 
fought  here  in  1645  that  all  the  books 
have  overlooked.  The  Battle  of  Wol- 
verhampton,  he  calls  it.  He  wrote  a 
little  pamphlet  about  it  once/' 

I  assured  the  good  parson  that  my 
eagerness  to  know  more  about  the 
Battle  of  Wolverhampton  was  un 
bounded.  I  nearly  spilled  my  tea  in 
my  excitement. 

"Is  that  Mr.  Kent  of  318,  Bancroft 
Road?  "I  asked. 

"Yes/'  answered  the  vicar.  "How 
did  you  know?" 

"They  told  me  about  him  at  the 
bookshop." 

I  explained  that  I  was  in  Wolver 
hampton  for  a  day  or  so  only,  and 
finally  the  excellent  man  came  across 
with  the  suggestion  I  was  panting  for. 


58  KATHLEEN 

"Well,"  he  said,  "as  it  happens,  I 
have  one  or  two  calls  to  make  in  that 
direction  this  evening.  If  you  care  to 
have  me  do  so,  I'll  speak  to  Mr.  Kent 
about  you,  and  he  can  make  an  appoint 
ment.  You  said  you  were  stopping  at 
the  Blue  Boar?" 

I  thanked  him  with  such  warmth 
that  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "your 
enthusiasm  does  you  great  credit.  I 
wish  you  all  success  in  your  thesis." 

I  got  back  to  the  Boar  feeling  that  I 
had  done  a  very  good  afternoon's  work 
indeed. 


VI 

THE  Scorpions  (continues  Blair's 
diary)  were  all  very  merry  at  din 
ner  that  night — particularly  at  my  ex 
pense.  I  was  the  only  one  who  had  not 
been  out  to  Bancroft  Road  to  look  over 
the  ground.  Apparently  they  had  had 
a  very  cheery  time. 

"Well,  Falstaff,  what  luck?"  I  asked 
Carter. 

"Splendid!"  he  replied.  "The  local 
butcher  has  given  me  a  job  and  I'm 
going  to  call  there  for  a  meat  order  to 
morrow  morning." 

"What!"  shouted  someone.  "On 
Sunday?  Not  likely!" 

59 


60  KATHLEEN 

I  knew  mighty  well  that  Carter 
would  not  concoct  anything  as  crude 
as  that,  and  wondered  what  deviltry 
he  had  devised. 

"I  noticed  that  two  telegrams  were 
delivered  at  the  house  this  afternoon/' 
said  Forbes,  in  a  quiet,  non-committal 
kind  of  way. 

"Perhaps  Joe  is  on  his  way  here/' 
said  I.  "If  so,  Good-Night!"  As  I 
spoke,  I  wondered  rather  anxiously 
what  the  other  telegram  could  be. 

"Well,  we  saw  her,  anyway!"  said 
Whitney,  "and  she's  marvellous!  She 
wears  a  blue  tarn  o'  shanter  and  has 
an  ankle  like  a  fairy  tale.  We  saw 
her  walk  down  the  street." 

"That's  nothing,"  I  retorted,  "I  saw 

her  hours  ago.    She  was  on  the  train  with 
i 

us  from  Birmingham  this  morning." 


KATHLEEN  6l 

This  started  a  furious  wrangle. 
They  said  I  hadn't  played  fair,  as  the 
contest  didn't  begin  until  two  o'clock. 
My  point  was  that  I  had  not  trans 
gressed  the  rules  as  I  had  done  noth 
ing  to  profit  by  my  accident  in  seeing 
her  first. 

"I  couldn't  help  seeing  her,  could 
I?"  I  asked.  "You  could  have,  too, 
if  you  hadn't  been  all  frowsting  over 
Tit-Bits  in  the  train.  And  after  all, 
I  didn't  know  it  was  Kathleen.  I  only 
suspected  it." 

1  changed  the  conversation  by  ask 
ing  where  the  Goblin  was. 

No  one  had  noticed  before  that  he 
hadn't  turned  up.  This  was  a  bit 
disconcerting.  I  secretly  thought  him 
the  most  dangerous  competitor.  He 
has  a  quiet,  impish  twinkle  in  his  eye, 


62  KATHLEEN 

and  an  unobtrusive  way  of  getting 
what  he  wants.  However,  the  others 
scoffed  at  my  fears. 

Although  they  all  talked  a  great 
deal  about  the  amusing  time  they  had 
had,  I  could  not  gather  that  they  had 
really  accomplished  much.  Forbes 
claimed  to  have  seen  Fred,  and  said 
he  looked  like  a  rotter.  We  drank 
Kathleen's  health  a  couple  of  times, 
and  then  the  other  three  sat  down  to 
dummy  bridge.  I  slipped  away  to  the 
Public  Library,  partly  to  get  some 
more  of  my  antiquarian  information 
about  Wolverhampton,  and  partly  be 
cause  I  knew  my  absence  would  dis 
quiet  them. 

I  found  the  Library  after  some  dif 
ficulty.  In  the  large  reading-room  I 
hunted  up  some  books  of  reference, 


KATHLEEN  63 

but  to  my  disappointment  Mr.  Kent's 
volume  was  out.  Looking  round  for 
a  place  to  sit,  the  first  person  I  saw 
was  the  Goblin,  bent  very  busily  over 
a  book  and  making  notes  on  a  pad  of 
paper.  I  leaned  over  him. 

"Hello,  Goblin,"  I  whispered. 
"Getting  ready  for  a  First?" 

He  started,  and  tried  to  cover  his 
volume  with  a  newspaper,  but  I  had 
seen  it.  It  was  a  cook  book. 

"That's  a  queer  kind  of  fiction  you're 
mulling  over,"  I  remarked. 

"I'm  looking  up  a  recipe  for  stuffed 
eggs,"  said  the  Goblin,  without  a 
quiver.  "Our  Common  Room  steward 
does  them  so  poorly." 

"Well,  don't  let  me  interrupt  you," 
I  said.  I  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the 
room  with  a  volume  of  the  Britannica. 


64  KATHLEEN 

When  I  next  looked  up  the  Goblin  was 
gone. 

As  usual,  I  wasted  my  time  with  the 
encyclopedia.  I  got  interested  in  the 
articles  on  Wages,  Warts,  Weather, 
Wordsworth,  and  Worms.  By  the 
time  I  got  to  Wolverhampton  it  was 
closing  time.  I  did  just  seize  the  in 
formation  that  the  town  was  founded 
in  996  by  Wulfruna,  widow  of  the 
Earl  of  Northampton.  Then  I  had  to 
leave. 

I  got  back  to  the  Boar  about  ten- 
thirty.  The  coffee-room  was  empty. 
The  landlord  said  that  Whitney  and 
Forbes  were  out,  but  that  Mr.  Carter 
had  gone  upstairs. 

Falstaff  and  I  were  rooming  together, 
and  when  I  went  up  I  found  him  reading 
in  bed. 


KATHLEEN  65 

"Hello,  Wulfruna!"  he  said,  as  I 
came  in. 

Evidently  he,  too,  had  been  reading 
up  some  history.  Just  as  I  got  into 
bed  he  fell  asleep  and  his  book  dropped 
to  the  floor  with  a  thump.  I  crept 
quietly  across  the  room  and  picked  it 
up.  It  was  "Memorials  of  Old  Staf 
fordshire/'  by  Philip  Kent,  F.  S.  A.,  the 
very  copy  that  I  had  looked  for  at  the 
Library.  I  skimmed  over  it  and  then 
put  it  carefully  back  by  FalstafF s  bed 
side.  Was  he  on  the  antiquarian 
trail,  too?  I  began  to  realize  that 
these  rivals  of  mine  would  take  some 
beating. 

The  next  morning  (Sunday)  I  found 
a  note  waiting  for  me  on  the  breakfast 
table.  Three  indignant  Scorpions  were 
weighing  it,  studying  the  handwriting, 


66  KATHLEEN 

and  examining  the  stationery  like  three 
broken-hearted  detectives. 

"It's  not  Kathleen's  hand,  but  I'll 
swear  it's  the  same  notepaper,"  Forbes 
was  saying. 

Under  a  venomous  gaze  from  all 
three  I  took  the  letter  out  of  the  room 
before  opening  it.  Forbes  was  right: 
it  was  the  well-known  Bancroft  Road 
notepaper .  1 1  ran  thus : 

318,  BANCROFT  ROAD, 
WOLVERHAMPTON 

Saturday  Evening. 
DEAR  MR.  BLAIR, 

Mr.  Dunton,  the  vicar  of  S.  Philip's,  has 
just  told  me  of  your  visit  to  him.  I  am  so 
glad  to  know  that  you  take  an  antiquarian 
interest  in  this  region.  Curiously  enough, 
only  this  afternoon  we  had  two  wires  from 
our  cousin  Joe  in  Oxford,  one  of  which 
mentioned  your  being  here.  That  gives 


KATHLEEN  67 

us  additional  reason  for  looking  forward  to 
making  your  acquaintance. 

Mrs.  Kent  wants  you  to  come  to  lunch 
with  us  to-morrow,  at  one  o'clock.  Un 
fortunately  I  myself  am  laid  up  with 
rheumatism,  but  some  of  the  family  will  be 
delighted  to  take  you  to  see  the  quite 
surprising  relics  in  this  vicinity.  Joe  has 
probably  told  you  all  about  Fred,  who  is 
really  quite  one  of  the  family.  The  poor  fel 
low  needs  exercise  dreadfully;  you  must  take 
him  with  you  if  you  go  tramping.  Charlie 
and  Oliver,  my  boys,  are  away  at  school. 

Don't  attempt  to  reply  to  this,  but  just 
turn  up  at  one  o'clock. 

Sincerely  yours, 

PHILIP  KENT. 

This  gave  me  several  reasons  for 
thought,  and  disregarding  the  appeals 
from  the  coffee-room  to  come  in  and 
tell  them  all  about  it,  I  walked  into 
the  courtyard  of  the  Inn  to  consider. 


68  KATHLEEN 

First,  what  was  the  oiler  wire  from  Joe? 
Heavens,  was  he  on  his  way  from  Ox 
ford  to  Wolverhampton?  If  my  fake 
telegram  were  discovered  too  soon  I 
should  be  in  a  very  embarrassing 
position.  Second,  Joe  was  a  cousin, 
was  he!  One  of  those  annoying  second 
cousins,  probably,  who  are  close  enough 
to  the  family  to  be  a  familiar  figure,  and 
yet  far  enough  away  in  blood  to  marry 
the  daughter!  And  then  there  was  this 
sinister  person,  Fred,  who  was  "really 
quite  one  of  the  family."  Another 
cousin,  perhaps?  What  was  the  matter 
with  the  devil,  anyway?  If  he  needed 
exercise  why  didn't  he  go  and  get  it? 
Certainly  I  didn't  want  to  spend  an 
afternoon  antiquarianizing  with  him. 
How  was  I  to  get  him  out  of  the  way, 
so  that  I  could  get  a  tete-a-tete  with  K.? 


KATHLEEN  69 

I  could  see  that  if  this  game  was  to  be 
played  through  successfully  it  must  be 
played  with  some  daring.  Toujours  de 
Vaudace  I  I  thought,  and  let  breakfast 
go  hang.  Moreover,  my  sudden  dis 
appearance  would  help  to  demoralize 
my  rivals.  I  stuck  my  head  into  the 
breakfast-room  where  Priapus  was  just 
dishing  out  the  bacon  and  eggs.  In 
that  instant  it  struck  me  again  that  the 
Goblin  was  not  there.  I  cried  "Ye 
Gods!"  in  a  loud  voice,  and  slammed 
the  door  behind  me.  As  I  ran  out  of 
the  front  door  I  laughed  at  the  picture 
of  their  disconcerted  faces. 

My  idea  was  to  lure  Fred  away  from 
Bancroft  Road  at  all  hazards.  This 
could  only  be  done  by  another  telegram. 
And  as  it  was  Sunday,  the  railway  sta 
tion  was  the  only  place  to  send  one 


70  KATHLEEN 

from.  It  was  a  beautiful,  clear  morn 
ing,  and  I  hurried  through  the  streets 
with  exultation,  but  also  with  a  good 
deal  of  nervousness  as  to  the  outcome  of 
this  shameless  hoaxing.  At  any  rate, 
I  thought,  I  may  as  well  live  up  to  my 
privileges  as  an  irresponsible  American. 
The  Great  Kathleen  Excursion  was 
beginning  to  take  on  in  my  mind  the 
character  of  an  international  joust  or 
tourney. 

At  the  station  (or  at  the  depot  as 
one  would  say  at  home),  I  sent  the 
following  message  : 

FREDERICK  KENT, 
318,  Bancroft  Road, 

WOLVERHAMPTON. 

Unavoidably  detained  Oxford  hurt  leg 
playing  soccer  wish  you  could  join  me  at 
once  urgent. 

JOE. 


KATHLE  EN  71 

I  got  back  to  the  Boar  in  time 
for  a  cold  breakfast.  None  of  the 
others  was  there.  I  ate  with  my 
antiquarian  notes  on  Wolverhampton 
propped  against  the  coffee  pot.  I 
was  determined  that  Mr.  Kent 
should  find  me  as  intelligent  as  pos 
sible. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  before 
lunch  time.  I  read  Mr.  Kent's  letter 
over  several  times,  and  I  must  confess 
that  the  mention  of  that  other  wire  from 
Joe  worried  me  a  good  deal.  Just  how 
far  the  telegram  I  had  just  sent  might 
conflict  with  the  facts  as  known  to  the 
Kents,  I  could  not  surmise.  I  could 
only  trust  to  luck  and  pray  for  the  best. 
I  learned  from  the  chambermaid  that 
the  Goblin  had  come  in  very  late  the 
night  before,  and  had  gone  out  at 


72  KATHLEEN 

six  A.M.    That  bothered  me  almost  more 
than  any  thing  else. 

Finally,  after  hanging  round  the 
empty  coffee-room  for  a  while,  I  got 
nervous,  and  determined  to  go  to  morn 
ing  service  at  St.  Philip's.  There 
would  be  plenty  of  time  to  get  out  to 
Bancroft  Road  afterward,  and  perhaps 
Kathleen  would  be  at  church  and  I 
could  get  a  distant  view  of  her.  I 
walked  round  to  the  church.  Service 
had  begun,  but  I  went  in  and  sat  down 
at  the  back.  During  a  hymn  I  took  a 
good  look  round.  To  my  horror  I 
saw  in  a  pew  a  few  feet  in  front  of  me 
a  young  person  whose  robust  outline 
seemed  familiar.  I  looked  again.  It 
was  Falstaff  Carter  in  the  get-up  of  a 
curate.  Trembling  with  indignation,  I 
crept  out  of  the  church.  I  hardly  dared 


KATHLEEN  73 

speculate  on  what  low  device  he  had 
planned  for  winning  his  way  into  the 
sanctum. 

At  any  rate,  I  thought,  I  am  fixed 
for  lunch:  once  I  get  there,  I  guess  I  can 
gain  ground  as  fast  as  any  pseudo- 
curate.  I  ran  over  my  antiquarian  data 
another  time. 

It  was  half-past  twelve,  and  1  was 
just  brushing  my  hair  for  the  third 
time,  preparatory  to  starting  for  Ban 
croft  Road,  when  the  chambermaid 
came  to  the  bedroom  door.  'This 
note  was  just  left  for  you,  sir."  I  tore 
it  open. 

BANCROFT  ROAD, 

Sunday  Morning. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  BLAIR, 

1  am  afraid  you  will  think  it  very  strange, 
but,  owing  to  a  sudden  domestic  disarrange 
ment,  will  you  come  to  supper,  this  evening, 


74  KATHLEEN 

instead  of  to  luncheon?  I  am  exceedingly 
embarrassed  to  have  to  make  this  change, 
but  (to  be  quite  frank)  one  of  our  maids 
has  been  taken  ill,  and  our  luncheon  to-day 
will  have  to  be  a  haphazard  affair.  We 
are  also  rather  distressed  by  strange  news 
from  our  cousin  at  Oxford. 

But  we  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  you  at 
supper  time,  seven  o'clock. 

Cordially  yours, 

PHILIP  KENT. 

It  came  over  me  that  this  was  pretty 
dirty  work  we  were  putting  up  on  the 
poor  gentleman,  and  I  suddenly  felt 
thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself.  I  don't 
know  whether  any  of  the  others  came 
back  to  the  Boar  for  lunch,  or  not.  I 
put  on  my  cap  and  went  for  a  long  walk 
in  the  country,  out  toward  Tettenhall 
Wood.  I  didn't  come  back  until  tea 
time. 


VII 

A 5  JOHNNY  BLAIR  approached 
number  3 1 8,  Bancroft  Road,  a  little 
before  seven  o'clock  that  bland  March 
evening,  he  bore  within  his  hardy  breast 
certain  delicacies,  remorses,  doubts, 
and  revulsions.  But  all  these  were 
transcended  by  his  overmastering 
determination  to  see  this  superb 
and  long-worshipped  maiden  near  at 
hand. 

Bancroft  Road  proved  to  be  a  docile 
suburban  thoroughfare,  lined  with  com 
fortable  villas  and  double  houses,  each 
standing  a  little  back  from  the  street 
with  a  small  garden  in  front.  A  prim- 

75 


76  KATHLEEN 

rose-coloured  afterglow  lingered  in  the 
sky,  and  the  gas  lights  along  the  pave 
ment  still  burned  pale  and  white.  Just 
as  the  Rhodes  Scholar  passed  number 
302  he  saw  a  feminine  figure  run  down 
the  steps  of  a  house  fifty  yards  farther 
on,  cross  the  pavement,  and  drop  a 
letter  into  the  red  pillar  box  standing 
there.  Even  at  that  distance,  he  dis 
tinguished  a  lively  slimness  in  the  girl 
ish  outline  that  could  belong  to  no 
other  than  the  Incomparable  Kathleen. 
He  hastened  his  step,  casting  hesitance 
to  the  wind.  But  she  had  already  run 
back  into  the  house. 

It  would  have  added  to  the  problems 
Mr.  Blair  was  pondering  could  he  have 
read  the  letter  which  had  just  dropped 
into  the  post-box.  Perhaps  it  will 
somewhat  advance  the  course  of  the 


KATHLEEN  77 

narrative  to  give  the  reader  a  glimpse 
of  it. 

318,  BANCROFT  ROAD, 

Sunday  Afternoon. 
DEAR  JOE: 

Goodness  knows  what  has  happened  to 
this  usually  placid  house.  Never  again 
will  I  complain  to  you  that  there  is  no 
excitement  in  Wolverhampton. 

I  got  home  from  Birmingham  yesterday 
noon  and  since  then  everything  has  been 
perfectly  absurd.  I  can  only  believe  you 
have  gone  balmy. 

First  comes  your  wire  about  Mr.  Blair 
and  your  having  hurt  your  arm  playing 
soccer.  What  you  can  have  been  doing  at 
soccer  I  can't  conceive.  I  supposed  it  was 
a  mistake  for  hockey,  or  else  some  kind  of  a 
twit.  Well,  I  couldn't  see  what  I  could  do 
to  help  a  historical  student  but  I  showed 
Dad  the  wire  and  the  old  dear  said  he  would 
write  Mr.  Blair  a  line. 

I  had  just  settled  down  to  help  Mother 


78  KATHLEEN 

with  some  sewing  when  along  comes  your 
second  wire,  addressed  to  her.  Mother 
and  I  threw  up  our  hands  and  screamed! 
Certainly  we  thought  you  were  off  your 
crumpet.  Why  on  earth  should  you  send 
us  another  cook  when  you  know  Ethel  has 
been  here  for  so  long?  I  read  the  wire  for 
ward  and  backward  but  it  could  mean 
nothing  else.  It  said:  Have  found  very 
good  cook  out  of  place  am  sending  her  to  you 
earnestly  recommend  give  her  a  trial  reliable 
woman  but  eccentric  name  Eli^a  Thick  will 
call  Sunday  morning. 

Well,  we  all  had  a  good  laugh  over  this, 
and  wondered  what  kind  of  a  joke  you 
were  up  to.  Then,  after  supper,  to  our 
amazement,  came  a  third  wire — not  from 
you,  this  one,  but  to  Dad,  and  who  do  you 
suppose  from?  The  Bishop  of  Oxford  if 
you  please!  Dad  was  so  flustered  (you 
know  how  telegrams  excite  him:  they 
offend  all  his  antiquarian  instincts !) — well, 
the  Bishop  said — Am  sending  my  favourite 
curate  to  call  on  you  magnificent  young  fellow 


KATHLEEN  79 

excellent  family  very  worthy  chap  will  be  in 
Wolverhampton  a  day  or  two  anxious  to  have 
him  meet  your  family. 

Well,  this  rather  flabbergasted  us,  but 
Dad  took  it  rather  as  a  matter  of  course, 
after  the  first  surprise.  He  used  to  know 
the  Bishop  well — in  fact,  he  dedicated  his 
book  to  him.  "Quite  all  right,  my  dear/' 
Dad  kept  saying.  "  I  dare  say  the  young 
man  has  some  antiquarian  problems  to  talk 
over.  Too  bad  I'm  so  crippled  with 
rheumatism." 

After  supper  along  came  Mr.  Dunton, 
and  began  to  talk  about  a  charming  young 
American  who  had  been  calling  on  him,  and 
who  did  it  prove  to  be  but  your  friend  Mr. 
Blair,  who  had  been  quite  put  out  of  our 
minds  by  the  later  telegrams.  So  Dad  sat 
down  right  away  and  wrote  a  note  to  Mr. 
Blair  at  the  Blue  Boar  asking  him  for 
luncheon  to-day,  and  sent  it  up  by  the 
gardener's  boy. 

But  this  morning,  when  I  had  just 
decided  not  to  go  to  church  (you'll  see  why 


80  KATHLEEN 

in  a  minute)  comes  your  perfectly  mad 
message  to  Fred,  about  hurting  your  leg  at 
soccer  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  This  con 
vinced  us  that  you  are  quite  crazy.  How 
could  we  send  Fred  all  that  way  alone! 
And  when  did  you  take  up  soccer  anyway? 

But  we  know  what  a  mad  creature  you 
are  anyway,  so  we  simply  suspected  some 
deep-laid  twit.  Now  I  come  to  the 
queerest  thing  of  all ! 

Ethel  went  out  last  night,  for  her  usual 
Saturday  evening  off,  and  hasn't  returned ! 
In  all  the  years  she's  been  with  us,  Mother 
says,  it's  the  first  time  such  a  thing  ever 
happened.  And  before  breakfast  this 
morning,  turns  up  this  Eliza  Thick  person 
of  yours,  with  a  note  from  Ethel  to  say 
that  she  was  sick  but  that  her  friend 
Eliza  would  see  us  through  for  a  day  or  so. 
Well,  you  surely  have  a  queer  eye  for  pick 
ing  out  domestics!  Of  all  the  figures  of 
fun  I  ever  imagined,  she  is  the  strangest.  I 
don't  think  she's  quite  right  in  her  head. 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  her  when  I  see  you. 


KATH  LE  EN  8l 

Really,  I  roar  with  laughter  every  time  I 
look  at  her! 

I  haven't  got  time  to  say  more.  With 
this  Eliza  person  in  the  kitchen  goodness 
knows  what  may  happen.  We  had  to  send 
a  note  to  Mr.  Blair  not  to  come  for  lun 
cheon,  the  house  was  so  upset.  We  heard 
a  fearful  uproar  in  the  lower  regions  this 
afternoon  and  found  Eliza  engaged  in  eject 
ing  some  kind  of  gas-man  who  said  he  had 
come  to  see  the  meter  (on  Sunday,  if  you 
please !) 

Everything  seems  quite  topsy  turvy. 
And  Mr.  Blair  is  coming  to  supper  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  that  favourite  curate  of  the 
Bishop's,  too.  I  think  I  shall  have  to  stay 
down  in  the  kitchen  to  see  that  Eliza  Thick 
gets  through  with  it  all  right.  I  can  for 
give  you  almost  anything  except  her! 

Never,  never  say  again  that  nothing 
happens  in  Bancroft  Road ! 

Yours, 

KATHLEEN. 


VIII 

A  RUDDY- CHEEKED  housemaid 
in  the  correct  evening  uniform  ad 
mitted  Blair,  and  in  the  drawing-room 
he  found  Mr.  Kent  sitting  by  a  shining 
fire.  Points  of  light  twinkled  in  the  pol 
ished  balls  of  the  brass  andirons.  As 
soon  as  he  entered,  Blair  felt  the  comely 
atmosphere  of  a  charming  and  well- 
ordered  home.  Books  lined  the  walls; 
a  French  window  opened  on  to  the  lawn 
at  the  far  end  of  the  room ;  a  large  bowl 
of  blue  hyacinths,  growing  in  a  bed  of 
pebbles,  stood  on  the  reading  table. 

Mr.  Kent  was  small,  gray-haired,  with 

82 


KATHLEEN  83 

a  clear  pink  complexion  and  a  guileless 
blue  eye. 

"Mr.  Blair/'  he  said,  laying  down 
his  paper,  ' '  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you. 
A  friend  of  Joe's  is  always  welcome 
here,  and  particularly  when  he's  an 
antiquarian.  I  know  you'll  excuse  our 
seeming  rudeness  in  putting  you  off  at 
luncheon." 

Blair  bowed,  and  made  some  polite 
reply. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Mr.  Kent, 
"my  wife  was  embarrassed  this  morn 
ing  by  strange  happenings  in  the 
domestic  department.  Our  cook,  usu 
ally  very  faithful,  did  not  turn  up,  and 
sent  a  substitute  who  has  caused  her 
— well,  mingled  annoyance  and  amuse 
ment.  I  have  not  seen  the  woman 
myself:  my  rheumatism  has  kept  me 


84  KATHLEEN 

pretty  close  to  the  fire  this  damp 
weather;  but  by  all  accounts  the 
creature  is  very  extraordinary.  Well, 
well,  you  are  not  interested  in  that,  of 
course.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  meet  a 
fellow  antiquarian.  How  did  you 
happen  to  visit  Wolverhampton?  We 
have  a  number  of  quite  unusual  relics 
in  these  parts,  but  they  are  not  so  well 
known  as  they  should  be/' 

"To  tell  the  truth,  sir,"  said  Blair, 
"it  was  your  book,  which  I  came  across 
in  the  college  library.  I  was  particu 
larly  interested  in  your  account  of 
St.  Philip's  Church,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  ought  to  see  it.  You  see, 
we  in  America  have  so  little  antiquity 
of  our  own  that  these  relics  of  old 
England  are  peculiarly  fascinating  to 
US," 


KATHLEEN  85 

"Quite  so,  quite  so!"  said  Mr.  Kent, 
rubbing  his  hands  with  pleasure. 
"Magnificent!  Well,  well,  it  is  cer 
tainly  a  delight  to  hear  you  say  so. 
After  supper  we  will  dismiss  the  ladies 
and  have  a  good  crack.  There  are  some 
really  startling  things  to  be  learned 
about  Wolverhampton  in  Anglo-Saxon 
times.  You  know  the  town  lay  along 
the  frontier  that  was  much  harried  by 
the  Danes,  and  Edward  the  Elder  won 
a  conspicuous  victory  over  the  invaders 
at  Tettenhall,  which  is  a  village  very 
near  here." 

"Yes,"  said  Blair,  "I  walked  out 
there  this  afternoon." 

"Did  you,  indeed!  Well,  that  was 
a  proof  of  your  perspicacity.  You  may 
recall  that  in  my  book  1  referred  to  the 
battle  at  Tettenhall " 


86  KATHLEEN 

"That  was  in  910,  was  it  not?"  que 
ried  Blair,  adroitly. 

"Precisely.  It  is  mentioned  in  the 
Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle/' 

"Edward  the  Elder  died  in  924, 
didn't  he?"  asked  the  ruthless  American. 

"About  that  time,  I  think.  I  don't 
remember  exactly.  Upon  my  word, 
Mr.  Blair,  you  have  taken  up  his 
tory  with  true  American  efficiency ! 
I  do  wish  that  our  young  men  had  the 
same  zeal.  I  am  happy  to  say,  how 
ever,  that  I  am  expecting  a  young  cleric 
this  evening,  a  protege  of  the  Bishop  of 
Oxford,  who  is,  I  believe,  also  interested 
in  these  matters." 

Blair's  heart  sank,  but  he  had  no  time 
to  ponder,  for  at  this  moment  Mrs. 
Kent  and  Kathleen  came  in. 

"My  dear,  this  is  Mr.  Blair,  Joe's 


KATHLEEN  87 

friend  from  Oxford.  We  are  great 
cronies  already.  My  wife,  Mr.  Blair, 
and  my  daughter  Kathleen." 

The  young  Oxonian  suffered  one  of 
the  most  severe  heart  contusions  known 
in  the  history  of  the  human  race.  It 
was  a  positive  vertigo  of  admiration. 
This  was  indeed  the  creature  he  had 
seen  on  the  railway  platform :  a  dazzling 
blend  of  girl  and  woman.  The  gro 
tesque  appellation  "flapper"  fled  from 
his  mind.  Her  thick,  dark  hair  was 
drawn  smoothly  across  her  head  and 
piled  at  the  back  in  a  heavenly  coil. 
Her  clear  gray  eyes,  under  rich  brown 
brows,  were  cool,  laughing,  and  self- 
possessed.  She  was  that  most  adorable 
of  creatures,  the  tweenie,  between  girl 
and  woman,  with  the  magic  of  both 
and  the  weaknesses  of  neither.  Blair 


88  KATHLEEN 

could  not  have  said  how  she  was 
dressed.  He  saw  only  the  arch  face, 
the  intoxicating  clearness  of  her  skin, 
the  steady,  friendly  gaze. 

"How  do  you  do,"  he  said,  and  re 
membering  English  reticence,  hesi 
tated  to  put  out  his  hand;  then  cursed 
himself  for  not  having  done  so. 

Kathleen  smiled,  and  murmured, 
"How  do  you  do." 

"I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Kent.  "  Do  tell  us  what  that  crazy  Joe 
has  been  up  to.  Did  Mr.  Kent  tell  you 
we've  had  three  telegrams  from  her?" 

Blair  felt  the  room  twirl  under  his 
feet.  How  one  little  pronoun  can 
destroy  a  man!  In  his  agony  he  saw 
Mrs.  Kent  and  Kathleen  sit  down  on 
the  big  couch,  and  painfully  found  his 
way  to  a  chair. 


KATHLEEN  89 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon?"  he  stam 
mered.  "  I  didn't  just  catch " 

"The  mad  girl  has  sent  us  three 
telegrams/7  said  Mrs.  Kent,  "in  which 
there  was  only  one  sensible  thing,  the 
reference  to  yourself.  Her  other  re 
marks,  about  cooks  and  soccer  and 
injured  limbs,  were  quite  over  our 
heads." 

With  a  dull  sense  of  pain  Blair  felt 
Kathleen's  bright  eyes  on  him. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Blair,  is  she  ragging  us? 
Or  have  the  girls  at  Maggie  Hall  taken 
up  soccer?"  said  a  clear  voice,  every 
syllable  of  which  seemed  so  precious 
and  girlish  and  quaintly  English  that 
he  could  have  clapped  his  hands. 

He  blessed  her  for  the  clue.  "Mag 
gie  Hall!" — in  other  words,  Lady 
Margaret  Hall,  one  of  the  women's 


90  KATHLEEN 

colleges  at  Oxford.     So  "Joe"  was  (in 
American  parlance)  a  "co-ed!" 

"Why — er — I  believe  they  have 
been  playing  a  little,"  he  said 
desperately.  "I  think  he — er — some 
thing  was  said  about  having  his— 
hum — her — arm — hurt  in  a  rough 
game." 

"  Her  leg,  too,"  said  Mr.  Kent.  "  In 
my  time,  young  girls  didn't  send  tele 
grams  about  their  legs.  In  fact,  they 
didn't  send  telegrams  at  all." 

"Well,  we  are  quite  nonplussed," 
said  Mrs.  Kent.  "Kathleen  says  Joe 
must  have  had  a  rush  of  humour  to 
the  head.  She  wired  for  us  to  send 
Fred  down  to  her.  Of  course  she  has 
sent  wires  to  Fred  before,  as  a  joke; 
but  she  must  have  known  we  couldn't 
send  him  so  far  alone.  I  suppose  Joe 


KATHLEEN  QI 

has  told  you  all  about  Fred?  He's 
quite  one  of  the  family/' 

"Yes,"  said  the  distracted  Oxonian. 
"He  must  be  a  fine  fellow.  I'm  very 
anxious  to  meet  him/' 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  front  door 
bell,  and  in  a  kind  of  stupor  Blair  re 
alized  that  something — he  hardly  knew 
what — was  about  to  happen. 

"The  Reverend  Mr.  Carter/'  an 
nounced  the  maid. 

Blair  had  a  keen  desire  to  scream, 
but  he  kept  his  eyes  firmly  on  the  rug 
until  he  had  mastered  himself.  In 
the  general  movement  that  followed 
he  had  presence  of  mind  enough  to 
seize  a  chair  next  to  Kathleen.  He 
saw  Falstaff's  burly  figure  enter, 
habited  as  the  conventional  "black 
beetle"  of  the  church,  and  in  the 


92  KATHLEEN 

sharpened  state  of  his  wits  noticed 
that  the  unpractised  curate  had  put 
on  his  clerical  collar  the  wrong  way 
round.  He  rejoiced  in  Carter's  look 
of  dismay  on  finding  his  fellow- 
Scorpion  already  on  the  battlefield. 

"Mr.  Carter,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  "this 
is  Mr.  Blair,  of  Trinity." 

The  two  shook  hands  gravely. 

Blair  determined  to  make  use  of  his 
hard-won  information  to  set  Carter 
astray. 

"  I  know  Mr.  Carter  by  reputation," 
he  said.  "  I  have  heard  Joe  speak  of 
him  in  terms  of  great  admiration." 

The  curate  looked  worried,  but  tried 
to  play  safe. 

"Oh,  yes,  Joe!"  he  said.  "Splendid 
chap." 

Blair  made  haste  to  get  back  to  the 


KATHLEEN  93 

chair  he  coveted.  He  had  no  idea  what 
mad  schemes  might  lurk  beneath 
Carter's  episcopalian  frock,  and  was 
determined  to  gain  any  headway  he 
could. 

"It  seems  funny  your  coming  to 
Wolverhampton,"  said  Kathleen.  "So 
few  'varsity  men  ever  get  here.  But 
it's  certainly  a  blessing  for  Dad.  He'll 
talk  antiquities  with  you  as  long  as 
you  like." 

"Are  you  interested  in  the  sub 
ject?"  asked  Blair. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  she  laughed.  " It's 
too  bad  Dad  is  so  laid  up  with  his  lum 
bago.  He'd  love  to  walk  you  out  to 
Tettenhall  and  Boscobel,  to  see  his 
burial  mounds." 

"How  very  interesting!"  said  Blair. 
"A  kind  of  private  family  cemetery?" 


94  KATHLEEN 

"Oh,  dear  no,"  declared  Kathleen  in 
amazement.  "Antiquities,  you  know, 
where  the  Danes  buried  themselves/' 

"Of  course,  of  course.  How  I  wish 
I  could  see  them!  Are  you  fond  of 
walking?" 

"Yes,  when  it  isn't  too  muddy. 
It's  been  too  wet  lately  to  go  out  with 
Fred.  He  loves  a  good  long  walk,  but 
he's  getting  old  and  his  rheumatism 
bothers  him." 

"I  dare  say  he  may  have  inherited 
that  from  your  father?" 

"It's  very  common  among  Scotties," 
said  Kathleen. 

"Oh,  is  your  family  Scotch?" 
said  Blair,  feverishly  trying  to  be 
polite. 

"Our  family? "queried  Kathleen  with 
a  smile.  "Heavens,  no!  I  thought 


KATHLEEN  9$ 

you  were  talking  about  Fred.  You 
must  see  him,  he's  somewhere  around/' 

"I  should  love  to  meet  him,"  said 
Blair. 

Kathleen  went  to  the  door  and 
whistled.  There  was  a  scampering  on 
the  stairs,  and  a  grizzled  Skye  terrier 
trotted  into  the  room.  Blair  and  Car 
ter  looked  at  each  other  sheepishly. 

Mr.  Kent  had  been  referring  to  his 
watch  several  times,  and  Blair  began 
to  suspect  that  something  was  wrong. 
But  just  then  supper  was  announced. 
As  they  passed  into  the  dining-room, 
the  American  thought  he  noticed  signs 
of  agitation  on  the  maid's  face.  He 
wondered  secretly  what  the  rest  of  the 
Scorpions  were  up  to. 


IX 

COME,  Mr.  Blair/'  said  Mrs. 
Kent;  "you  sit  there,  next  to 
Mr.  Kent,  where  you  can  talk  about 
archaeology.  Mr.  Carter  tells  me  he 
knows  nothing  about  such  subjects,  so 
he  will  have  to  amuse  Kathleen  and 
me." 

"What  errand  brings  you  to  Wolver- 
hampton,  Mr.  Carter? "  inquired  Blair, 
thinking  to  unmask  his  opponent's 
weapons  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Carter  was  a  little  staggered  by 
this,  but  his  effrontery  was  up  to  the 
test. 

"The  Bishop  sent  me  down,"  he  said, 
96 


KATHLEEN  97 

"to  look  over  the  surrounding  parishes 
with  a  view  to  establishing  a  chapel  in 
the  suburbs/' 

"How  very  interesting!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Kent.  "But  surely  this  does  not 
lie  in  the  Oxford  diocese?" 

"Quite  true,"  said  Carter.  "The 
Bishop  had  to  get  special  permission 
from  Parliament.  An  old  statute  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  I  believe." 

"Indeed!  Indeed!"  cried  Mr.  Kent. 
"How  absorbing!  My  dear  Mr.  Car 
ter,  you  must  tell  me  more  about  that. 
I  take  it  you  are  something  of  a  his 
torical  student,  after  all." 

"I'm  afraid  not,  sir,"  replied  Carter. 
"My  studies  in  divinity  have  been  too  ex 
acting  to  leave  much  opportunity 

"You  must  not  believe  Mr.  Carter's 
disclaimers,"  said  Blair.  "I  have 


98  K  ATH  LE  EN 

heard  of  his  papers  before  the  Oxford 
Historical  Society.  He  has  a  very 
sound  antiquarian  instinct.  I  think 
you  would  find  his  ideas  of  great 
interest/' 

"We  were  speaking  of  the  battle 
with  the  Danes  at  Tettenhall,"  ob 
served  Mr.  Kent,  turning  to  Blair.  "  I 
think  that  if  Kathleen  could  arrange  to 
take  you  out  there  you  would  find  the 
burial  mounds  of  unusual  interest.  My 
dear,  could  you  walk  out  there  with 
Mr.  Blair  to-morrow  morning? " 

Kathleen  assented,  but  Blair  noticed 
that  she  was  not  eating  her  soup.  He 
also  noticed  that  the  maid,  in  the  back 
ground,  was  seized  with  occasional 
spasms,  which  he  was  at  a  loss  to  inter 
pret. 

"Did  I  hear  you  say  Tettenhall?" 


KATHLEEN  99 

ventured  Carter.  "That  is  the  very 
place  the  Bishop  mentioned  to  me.  He 
was  particularly  anxious  that  I  should 
go  there/' 

"You  must  come  with  us,  by  all 
means/'  said  Kathleen. 

"Bravo/'  said  Mr.  Kent,  beaming 
genially  upon  the  young  people.  "I 
wish  1  could  go  with  you.  You  know 
they  say  Wulfruna,  the  widow  of  the 
Earl  of  Northampton,  who  founded 
Wolverhampton,  had  a  kind  of  sum 
mer  place  once  near  Tettenhall,  and 

I  claim  to  have  located By  the 

way,  my  dear,  what  do  you  suppose  has 
happened  to  this  soup?" 

"I  think  that  Eliza  Thick  has  a 
heavy  hand  with  the  condiments," 
said  Mrs.  Kent.  "You  may  take 
away  now,  Mary/' 


100  KATHLEEN 

"As  I  recall,  Wulfruna  founded  the 
town  about  996,"  observed  Blair.  "I 
presume  it  takes  its  name  from  her?" 

"  Exactly — Wu  1  f  r  u  n  a-h  a  m  p  t  o  n. 
Really,  Mr.  Blair,  your  historical 
knowledge  does  you  honour.  I  had  no 
idea  that  Americans  were  such  keen 
students  of  the  past." 

Blair  began  to  think  that  he  had 
overplayed  his  hand,  for  he  noticed 
that  Falstaff  was  getting  in  some 
private  conversation  with  Kathleen. 
He  attempted  to  catch  her  eye  to  ask 
a  question,  but  Mr.  Kent  was  now 
well  launched  on  his  hobby. 

"Wulfruna  was  descended  from 
Ethelhild,  who  was  a  granddaughter 
of  Alfred  the  Great.  You  recall  that 
the  Etheling  Ethelwold,  the  son  of 
Alfred's  brother  Ethelred,  took  sides 


KATHLEEN  IOI 

with  the  Danes.  To  stem  the  invasion, 
Edward  and  his  sister  Ethelfled " 

"Ethel  fled,  that's  just  the  trouble," 
interposed  Mrs.  Kent.  "  Kathleen,  my 
dear,  do  run  downstairs  and  see 
what's  wrong  in  the  kitchen.  I'm 
afraid  Eliza  is  in  difficulties  again. 
Mr.  Blair,  you  and  Mr.  Carter  must 
excuse  this  irregularity.  Our  substi 
tute  cook  is  a  very  strange  person." 

Kathleen  left  the  room,  and  it  seemed 
to  Blair  as  though  the  sparkle  had  fled 
from  the  glasses,  the  gleam  of  candle 
light  from  the  silver.  Across  the  cloth 
he  had  watched  her — girlish,  debonair, 
and  with  a  secret  laughter  lurking  in 
her  eyes.  And  yet  he  had  not  had  a 
chance  to  exchange  half  a  dozen  sen 
tences  with  her. 

The     maid     reentered,     whispered 


102  KATHLEEN 

something  to  Mrs.  Kent,  and  began 
to  place  the  dishes  for  the  next  course. 

"  Kathleen  begs  to  be  excused/'  said 
Mrs.  Kent.  "She  thinks  she  had 
better  stay  in  the  kitchen  to  help 
Eliza/' 

"Oh,  I  say/'  cried  the  curate.  "That's 
too  bad.  Do  you  think  I  coujd  help, 
Mrs.  Kent?  I'm  a  very  good  cook. 
The  Bishop  himself  has  praised  my — 
er — my " 

"Your  what?"  asked  Blair. 

"My  ham  and  eggs,"  retorted  the 
cleric. 

"Perhaps  you  will  let  me  wash  the 
dishes,"  suggested  Blair.  "I  should 
be  only  too  happy  to  assist.  I  feel 
very  embarrassed  at  having  intruded 
upon  you  at  so  inconvenient  a  time/' 

"  I  should  not  dream  of  such  a  thing," 


KATHLEEN  1 03 

said  Mrs.  Kent.  "I  believe  that  Eliza 
is  perfectly  capable,  but  as  Joe  said, 
she  is  eccentric/' 

"I  am  quite  accustomed  to  wash 
ing  dishes/'  said  Carter.  "In  fact, 
the  Bishop  always  used  to  ask  me  to 
do  it  for  him/' 

"Dear  me/'  remarked  Mr.  Kent, 
"surely  the  Bishop  has  plenty  of  serv 
ants  to  help  in  such  matters?" 

Blair  applied  himself  to  the  food  on 
his  plate  to  which  he  had  helped  him 
self  almost  unconsciously.  He  well 
knew  the  daring  hardihood  of  his  rival, 
and  feared  that  the  other  might  find 
some  excuse  to  follow  Kathleen  to  the 
kitchen.  As  he  raised  his  fork  to  his 
lips,  suddenly  his  hand  halted.  The 
dish  was  stuffed  eggs.  His  mind  re 
verted  to  the  Public  Library  the  even- 


104  KATHLEEN 

ing  before.  Was  it  possible  that  the 
Goblin ? 

He  determined  that  the  first  thing 
to  be  done  was  to  get  Carter  so  firmly 
engaged  with  Mr.  Kent  that  the  wolf 
in  cleric's  clothing  could  not  withdraw. 
Then  perhaps  he  himself  could  frame 
some  excuse  for  seeing  what  was 
going  on  downstairs. 

"Mr.  Kent,"  he  said,  "you  should 
draw  out  Mr.  Carter  concerning  his 
views  on  amending  the  liturgy  of  the 
Established  Church.  He  has  some 
very  advanced  ideas  on  that  subject 
which  have  attracted  much  attention 
at  Oxford.  One  of  his  interesting 
suggestions  is  that  radical  churchmen 
should  wear  the  clerical  collar  back 
side  foremost,  as  a  kind  of  symbol 
of  their  inverted  opinions." 


KATHLEEN  IO5 

The  wretched  Carter's  hand  flew 
to  his  neck,  and  he  glared  across 
the  table  in  a  very  unecclesiastical 
manner. 

"Really!"  said  Mr.  Kent,  "that  is 
most  interesting.  I  had  noticed  his 
modification  of  the  customary  dress. 
In  what  other  ways,  Mr.  Carter,  would 
you  amend  the  ritual?" 

The  unfortunate  curate  was  caught. 

"  Er — hum — well — that  is,  the  Bishop 
and  I  both  think  that  the  service  is 
too  long,"  he  faltered.  "  I  am  in  favour 
of  omitting  the  sermon." 

"Hear,  hear!"  cried  Mr.  Kent.  "It 
is  most  refreshing  to  hear  a  high  church 
man  make  such  a  confession.  And 
what  else  do  you  propose?" 

"Why — ah — hum — it  has  always 
seemed  to  me  that  the — thirty-nine 


106  KATHLEEN 

articles  might — well — be  somewhat 
condensed/' 

"  Bravo  indeed,  though  I  fear  the 
Bishop  would  balk  at  that/'  said  his 
host. 

The  maid,  appearing  in  the  dining- 
room  again,  whispered  to  Mrs.  Kent. 

"Philip,"  said  the  latter,  "that  gas 
man  is  here  again,  and  says  he  must  see 
the  meter.  He  claims  that  there  is  a 
dangerous  leak  which  should  be  fixed  at 
once.  Perhaps  I  had  better  go  down  to 
the  cellar  with  him.  Your  rheuma 
tism " 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Kent,"  cried  the 
curate,  seeing  his  chance;  "do  nothing 
of  the  sort.  It  is  the  privilege  of  my 
cloth  to  take  precedence  when  there  is 
danger  of  any  kind.  If  any  one  should 
be  overcome  by  fumes,  the  consolations 


KATHLEEN  IO7 

of  the  church  may  be  needed/'  And 
without  waiting  for  another  word,  he 
leaped  up  and  ran  from  the  room. 

Blair  fidgeted  in  his  chair,  seeing 
himself  outwitted,  but  there  was  noth 
ing  he  could  do. 

"Pray  go  on  with  your  supper,  Mr. 
Blair,"  urged  Kent.  "You  must  over 
look  anything  that  seems  strange 
this  evening.  Everything  seems  to  be 
widdershins.  Perhaps  because  it  is 
St.  Patrick's  Day.  I  do  believe  that 
woman  in  the  kitchen  is  at  the  bottom 
of  it  all.  These  stuffed  eggs  are  posi 
tively  uneatable!  If  I  were  not  crip 
pled  with  this  lumbago  I  would  go 
down  and  fire  her  out  of  the  house." 

"Let  me  do  it  for  you!"  cried  Blair, 
half  rising  from  his  seat. 

"Nonsense!     I'm  not  going  to  sacri- 


IO8  KATHLEEN 

fice  our  good  talk  on  antiquities  so 
easily.  I  want  very  much  to  tell  you 
about  the  Battle  of  Wolverhampton. 
The  town  was  strongly  loyalist  in  the 
great  rebellion;  in  fact,  in  1645  it  was 
the  headquarters  of  Prince  Rupert, 
while  Charles  the  First  is  said  to  have 
stopped  at  the  Blue  Boar  for  a 
drink " 

At  this  moment  came  a  ring  at  the 
front  door,  and  Mr.  Kent  stopped  to 
listen.  They  heard  a  male  voice 
mumbling  to  the  maid,  who  then  came 
to  her  mistress  to  report. 

"There's  a  policeman  out  here, 
ma'am,  to  see  Mr.  Kent." 

"A  policeman? "  queried  the  anti 
quarian.  "What  next,  I  wonder? 
Well,  supper  is  suspended,  send  him 


in." 


KATHLEEN  IOQ 

And  to  Blair's  dismay  the  gigantic 
form  of  Whitney,  the  Iron  Duke, 
crossed  the  threshold,  in  the  correct 
uniform  of  the  Wolverhampton  police 
force. 

If  Blair  was  dismayed,  the  counter 
feit  policeman  was  no  less  disgusted  to 
see  his  fellow  Scorpion  sitting  at  the 
dinner  table,  but  they  gazed  at  each 
other  without  any  sign  of  recognition. 

"Begging  your  pardon  for  inter 
rupting,  sir,  but  the  chief  sent  me 
around  for  a  word  with  you.  There's 
been  a  gang  o'  sneak  thieves  operat 
ing  'round  'ere,  sir,  and  some  of  'em 
'as  been  getting  admittance  to  'ouses 
by  passin'  themselves  off  as  gas  in 
spectors,  sir/' 

Mrs.  Kent  screamed. 

"I   'ad  a  notion  that  one  o'   these 


I  10  K  ATH  LE  EN 

birds  is  along  Bancroft  Road  to-night, 
sir,  an*  I  wanted  to  warn  you.  Don't 
let  the  maid  admit  any  tradesmen  or 
agents  from  the  gas  company  unless 
they  'as  the  proper  badges,  sir/' 

"Heavens,  Philip!"  cried  Mrs. 
Kent.  "That  dreadful  man  is  down 
stairs  now!  Eliza  threw  him  out  once 
this  afternoon,  but  he's  here  again. 
He  may  have  murdered  Mr.  Carter  by 
this  time.  Oh,  inspector,  do  hurry 
down  at  once  and  see  what's  hap 
pened!  There's  a  defenceless  high- 
church  curate  in  the  cellar  with  him. 
Mary,  show  the  way  downstairs." 

Blair  poured  out  a  glass  of  water  for 
Mrs.  Kent. 

"Don't  you  think  I  had  better  go 
down,  too?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  please  don't  go!"  begged  Mrs. 


K  ATH  LE  EN  III 

Kent,  faintly.  "Stay  here,  in  case  he 
should  escape  upstairs.  I  believe  we 
shall  all  be  murdered  in  our  beds ! " 

"Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Kent.  "We 
mustn't  let  all  this  spoil  Mr.  Blair's 
supper.  Have  another  glass  of  wine. 
The  policeman  will  attend  to  the  gas 
man.  We  don't  often  get  a  chance  to 
talk  to  a  genuine  antiquarian.  I 
think,  Mr.  Blair,  that  you  will  be 
greatly  interested  in  the  architectural 
restoration  of  our  parish  church.  It 
exemplifies  the  worst  excesses  of  the 
mid- Victorian  period.  The  church  it 
self  is  one  of  the  finest  examples  of 
the  cruciform  type.  The  south  tran 
sept  dates  from  the  thirteenth  cen 
tury;  the  nave,  clerestory,  and  north 
transept  from  the  fifth.  The  chancel 
was  restored  in  1865,  but  I  must  con- 


I  12  K  ATM  LE  EN 

fess  that  the  treatment  of  the  clere 
story  seems  to  me  barbarous.  Now 
what  are  your  own  ideas  as  to  the 
proper  treatment  of  a  clerestory?" 

The  wretched  American  was  non 
plussed.  He  had  a  shrewd  suspicion 
that  matters  were  moving  rapidly 
downstairs  yet  he  did  not  see  any 
way  of  leaving  the  dining-room  to  in 
vestigate  for  himself.  He  had  hardly 
heard  what  was  said. 

"Why— ah— to  tell  you  the  truth, 
Mr.  Kent,  I  read  very  little  fiction 
nowadays.  I'm  rather  wrorried  about 
that  gas-man  downstairs.  Do  you 
suppose  your  daughter  can  be  in  any 
danger?  There  might  be  some  sort 
of  explosion — don't  you  think  I  had 
better  run  down  to  see  if  I  can  help?" 

As    they    sat    listening     Kathleen's 


KATHLEEN  113 

voice  was    heard    from    the   kitchen, 
raised  in  clear  and  angry  tones. 

Blair  could  contain  himself  no 
longer.  With  an  inarticulate  apology 
he  hurried  out  of  the  room,  leaving 
the  puzzled  antiquarian  and  his  wife 
alone  at  the  supper  table. 


X 

THE  Rhodes  Scholar  was  correct  in 
having  feared  the  Goblin  as  a  dan 
gerous  competitor  in  the  quest  of  the 
Grail.  King,  as  we  have  intimated  be 
fore,  was  a  quaint-minded  and  in 
genious  person,  modest  in  stature  but 
with  a  twinkling  and  roving  eye.  He 
was  one  of  the  leading  spirits  of  the 
OUDS,  known  in  full  as  the  Oxford 
University  Dramatic  Society,  and  his 
ability  to  portray  females  of  the  lower 
classes  had  been  the  delight  of  more 
than  one  Shakespearean  rendering. 
No  one  who  saw  him  as  Juliet's  nurse 
in  a  certain  private  theatrical  per- 
114 


KATHLEEN  115 

formance  in  the  hall  of  New  College 
can  recall  the  occasion  without 
chuckles. 

When  the  Goblin  left  the  Blue  Boar 
on  Saturday  afternoon  he  also  made 
his  way  out  to  Bancroft  Road;  but 
instead  of  patrolling  the  main  street 
in  the  vague  hope  of  catching  a 
glimpse  of  Kathleen  (as  did  Falstaff, 
Priapus,  and  the  Iron  Duke),  he 
hunted  out  the  hinder  regions  of  the 
district.  In  accordance  with  a  plan 
he  had  concocted  before  leaving  Ox 
ford,  he  carried  a  little  portfolio  of 
"art  subjects/'  of  the  kind  dear  to 
domestic  servants,  and  with  this  in 
hand  he  approached  the  door  of  the 
basement  back  kitchen,  where  Ethel 
the  cook  and  her  assistant,  Mary,  the 
housemaid,  were  having  a  mid-after- 


Il6  KATHLEEN 

noon  cup  of  tea.  The  windings  of  the 
humbler  lanes  of  service,  behind  the  Ban 
croft  Road  houses,  were  the  proper 
causeway  for  tradesmen,  and  it  was 
easy  for  him  to  reach  the  back  garden 
gate  unseen  by  those  in  front. 

He  knocked  respectfully  at  the 
kitchen  door,  and  Mary  came  to 
answer. 

"Good  day,  Miss/'  said  the  sup 
posed  pedlar.  "  I  'ave  some  very  pretty 
pictures  'ere  which  I  wish  you  would 
let  me  show  you." 

Mary  was  a  simple-minded  crea 
ture,  but  she  knew  that  her  mistress 
had  strict  rules  about  pedlars. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said,  "but  Missus 
don't  let  no  pedlars  in  the  house." 

"If  you  please,  Miss,"  said  the  art 
ful  Goblin;  "I  am  no  pedlar,  but  rep- 


KATHLEEN  I  I 7 

resenting  a  very  respectable  photog 
rapher,  and  I  would  like  to  show  you 
some  photographs  in  the  'ope  of  get 
ting  your  order.  I  'ave  taken  a  num 
ber  of  orders  at  the  nicest  'ouses  along 
Bancroft  Road.  I  thought  maybe  you 
would  like  to  'ave  a  photo  of  yourself 
taken,  to  send  to  your  young  man." 
And  he  opened  his  case,  exhibiting  a 
sheaf  of  appropriate  photos. 

It  was  a  slender  chance,  but  the 
pedlar  had  a  wheedling  eye  and  a 
genteel  demeanour,  and  Mary  hesi 
tated.  She  called  the  cook,  a  stout, 
middle-aged  person,  who  came  to  the 
door  to  see  what  was  up.  The  pedlar 
rapidly  showed  the  best  items  of  his 
collection,  which  he  had  selected  with 
great  care  in  a  photographer's  studio 
in  Oxford.  Fate  hung  in  the  scales, 


Il8  KATHLEEN 

but  the  two  servants  could  not  resist 
temptation.  They  knew  that  Mrs. 
Kent  and  Miss  Kathleen  were  upstairs 
sewing;  and  the  master  was  confined 
to  his  study  with  his  rheumatism. 
They  invited  the  photographer  into  the 
kitchen. 

It  is  a  psychological  fact  well  known 
to  housekeepers  that  there  is  a  va 
cant  hour  in  the  middle  of  the  after 
noon  when  Satan  sometimes  finds  a 
joint  in  the  protective  armour  of  the 
domestic  servant.  After  the  luncheon 
dishes  are  washed  and  put  away,  and 
before  five-o'clock  tea  and  toast  are 
served,  cook  and  housemaid  enjoy  a 
period  of  philosophic  contemplation  or 
siesta.  Even  in  the  most  docile  and 
kitchen-broken  breast  thoughts  of 
roses  and  romance  may  linger;  dreams 


KATHLEEN  IIQ 

of  moving  pictures  or  the  coming  cotil 
lion  of  the  Icemen's  Social  Harmony. 
Usually  this  critical  time  is  whiled 
away  by  the  fiction  of  Nat  Gould  or 
Bertha  Clay  or  Harold  Bell  Wright. 
And  close  observers  of  kitchen  comedy 
will  have  noted  that  it  is  always .  at 
this  fallow  hour  of  the  afternoon  that 
pedlars  and  other  satanic  emissaries 
sharpen  their  arrows  and  ply  their 
most  plausible  seductions. 

The  Goblin  has  never  admitted  just 
what  honeyed  sophistries  he  employed 
to  win  the  hearts  of  the  simple  pair 
in  Mrs.  Kent's  kitchen.  But  the  facts 
may  be  briefly  stated  by  the  chron 
icler.  After  getting  them  interested 
in  his  photos  he  confessed  frankly 
that  he  was  an  old  friend  of  the  fam 
ily  from  Oxford.  He  said  that  he  and 


I2O  KATHLEEN 

Miss  Kathleen  were  planning  an  inno 
cent  practical  joke  on  the  family,  and 
asked  if  he  could  take  the  place  of 
one  of  the  servants  for  that  Sunday. 
He  made  plain  that  his  share  in  the 
joke  must  not  be  revealed  to  any  one. 
And  then  he  played  his  trump  card 
by  showing  them  the  text  of  the  bogus 
telegram  recommending  Miss  Eliza 
Thick,  which  he  had  dispatched  from 
a  branch  postal  office  on  his  way 
through  the  town. 

"And  is  Miss  Josephine  in  the  joke, 
too?"  inquired  the  cook. 

This  question  startled  the  Goblin, 
but  he  kept  his  composure  and  af 
firmed  that  he  and  Miss  Josephine 
had  concocted  the  telegram  jointly 
in  Oxford.  And  by  a  little  adroit 
pumping  he  learned  "Joe's"  status 


K  ATH  LE  EN  121 

in  the  family.  The  cook,  Ethel,  ad 
mitted  that  she  was  to  go  out  that 
evening  for  her  Saturday  night  off. 
At  last  the  Goblin,  by  desperate  cun 
ning  and  the  exhibition  of  two  golden 
sovereigns,  completely  won  the  hearts 
of  the  maids.  While  they  were  talk 
ing  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Mary, 
returning  from  the  upper  regions, 
announced  that  it  was  "another  tele 
gram  from  Miss  Joe.  Missus  and 
Miss  Kathleen  laughed  fit  to  kill  when 
they  read  it,"  she  said. 

"You  see?"  said  the  Goblin. 
"That's  the  same  telegram  I  just 
showed  you.  It's  all  right;  it's  a 
joke.  You  don't  need  to  worry,  cook. 
Mrs.  Kent  won't  be  angry  with  you. 
You  let  me  take  your  place  for  to 
morrow,  and  write  a  little  note  saying 


122  KATHLEEN 

you're  ill  and  that  your  friend  Eliza 
Thick  will  do  your  work  for  the  day." 

It  was  arranged  that  the  Goblin 
should  meet  Ethel  at  her  home  that 
night  to  borrow  some  clothes.  The 
cook  showed  him  the  menu  for  Sun 
day  that  Mrs.  Kent  had  sent  down. 
This  rather  daunted  the  candidate  for 
kitchen  honours,  but  he  copied  it  in  his 
notebook  for  intensive  study.  Then, 
as  it  was  close  upon  tea-time,  he 
packed  up  the  photos,  distributed  his 
largesse,  and  retired.  Mary,  the  house 
maid,  promised  to  stand  by  him  in 
the  coming  ordeal.  Both  the  serv 
ants  felt  secretly  flattered  that  they 
should  be  included  in  the  hoax.  The 
kitchen  classes  in  England  have  great 
reverence  for  young  'varsity  men. 

The  Goblin  was  a  canny  man,  and 


KATHLEEN  123 

he  had  brought  with  him  a  wig  and 
certain  other  properties.  He  hunted 
out  a  little  tea  shop,  where  he  medi 
tated  over  three  cups  of  pekoe  and 
hot  buttered  toast.  Then  he  made  his 
way  to  the  Public  Library,  where  he 
spent  several  hours  over  a  cook-book. 
He  was  complimenting  himself  on  hav 
ing  shaken  the  other  Scorpions  off  his 
trail  when  Blair  looked  over  his 
shoulder  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
stuffed-eggs  recipe  to  which  the  Goblin 
was  addressing  himself  for  the  fourth 
time.  The  meeting  was  embarrassing, 
but  it  could  not  be  helped.  After 
Blair  had  left  him,  the  cook-to-be  re 
turned  to  his  memoranda. 

Mrs.  Kent  trusted  many  things  to 
Ethel's  judgment,  and  her  instruc 
tions  as  jotted  down  on  a  slip  of 


124  KATHLEEN 

paper  included  three  possibilities. 
"Eggs,  stuffed,  devilled,  or  farci"  she 
had  written,  and  the  Goblin  was  en 
deavouring  to  decide  which  of  these 
presented  the  least  distressing  respon 
sibility.  He  was  a  student  of  mathe 
matics,  and  had  attempted  to  reduce 
the  problem  to  a  logical  syllabus.  He 
read  over  his  memoranda : 

THEOREM:  STUFFED  EGGS. 

Data:   six  hard,  boiled-eggs  (20  minutes). 

(a)  Cut  eggs  in  halves  lengthwise. 

(b)  Remove    yolks,    and    put    whites 
aside  in  pairs. 

(c)  Mash  yolks,  and  add 

(1)  Half  the  amount  of  devilled  ham. 

(2)  Enough  melted  butter  to  make  of 

consistency  to  shape. 

("Half  what  amount  of  devilled  ham?" 

thought  the  Goblin.     "  And  where  does  the 

devilled  ham  come  from?     How  does  one 

devil  a  ham?    What  a  pity  Henry  James 


KATHLEEN  125 

never  wrote  a  cook-book!  It  would  have 
been  lucid  compared  to  this.  To  make  of 
consistency  to  shape — what  on  earth  does 
that  mean?") 

(d)  Clean  and  chop  two  chickens' 
livers,  sprinkle  with  onion  juice,  and  saute 
in  butter — 

("No!"  he  cried,  "that's  eggs  jarci. 
Wrong  theorem!") 

(d)  Make   in    balls    ("Make   what   in 
balls?")    size   of  original   yolks    ("Note: 
remember  to  measure  original  yolks  before 
cutting  them  lengthwise"). 

(e)  Refill   whites    ("Let's    see,    what 
did  1  fillfem  with  before?"). 

(f)  Form   remainder  of  mixture   into 
a    nest.    ("That's   a    nice   little    homely 
touch.") 

(g)  Arrange  eggs  in  the  nest  and 

(1)  Pour  over  one  cup  White  Sauce. 

("  Memo :    See  p.  266  for  White 
Sauce.") 

(2)  Sprinkle  with  buttered  crumbs. 

("Allow   plenty   of    time    for 


126  -KATHLEEN 

buttering  those  crumbs;  that 
sounds  rather  ticklish  work.") 
(3)     Bake  until  crumbs  are  brown, 
(h)     Garnish   with   a   border   of   toast 
points  and  a  wreath  of  parsley. 

Q.  E.  D. 

"Integral  calculus  is  a  treat  com 
pared  to  this/'  he  said  to  himself  as 
he  reviewed  the  problem.  "I  hope 
they  have  plenty  of  parsley  in  the 
house.  That  nest  may  need  a  little 
protecting  foliage.  I  don't  see  how  I 
can  make  any  kind  of  proper  asylum 
for  those  homeless,  wandering  eggs  out 
of  that  mess."  So  saying,  he  left  the 
library  to  call  upon  Ethel  at  her  home 
and  complete  his  disguise. 


XI 

MRS.  KENT  was  a  deal  puzzled  by 
the  bearing  and  accoutrements  of 
her  substitute  cook.  ElizaThick  appear 
ed  on  the  premises  about  seven  o'clock, 
and  with  the  aid  of  the  housemaid 
breakfast  went  through  fairly  smoothly. 
It  was  Kathleen's  query  about  the 
coffee  that  elicited  the  truth.  Mary, 
with  nervous  gigglings,  announced  to 
her  mistress  that  Ethel  was  ill  and  had 
sent  a  substitute.  The  coincidence  that 
Josephine's  nominee  should  turn  out  to 
be  a  friend  of  Ethel  struck  Mrs.  Kent 
as  strange,  and  presently  she  went  down 

to  interview  the  new  kitcheneer. 

127 


128  KATHLEEN 

Eliza  Thick,  a  medium-sized  but 
rather  powerfully  fashioned  female, 
generously  busted  and  well  furnished 
with  rich  brown  hair,  was  washing 
the  dishes.  She  curtseyed  respect 
fully  as  Mrs.  Kent  entered  the 
kitchen. 

"Good  morning/'  said  Mrs.  Kent. 
"You  are  Eliza  Thick?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"You  brought  a  note  from  Ethel?" 

"Yes,  ma'am;"  and  fumbling  in  an 
opulent  bosom,  Eliza  drew  forth  a 
crumpled  scrap  of  paper. 

"I  had  a  telegram  from  my  niece 
in  Oxford  recommending  you.  How 
did  she  know  of  you?  " 

"I  worked  at  Lady  Marg'ret  'All, 
ma'am,  where  the  young  lady  is 
studyin'." 


KATHLEEN  129 

"Why  did  you  leave  your  place 
there? " 

"If  you  please,  ma'am,  my  dishes 
was  so  tasty  that  it  made  the  young 
ladies  discontented  when  they  got 
'ome.  Their  parents  complained  that 
it  gave  'em  too  'igh  ideas  about  wittles. 
The  principal  said  I  was  pamperin' 
'em  too  much,  an'  offered  to  release 


me." 


Mary,  who  was  listening,  gave  a  loud 
snort  of  laughter,  which  she  tried  to 
conceal  by  rattling  some  plates. 

"Well,  Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Kent, 
"that  will  do.  You  must  get  on  with 
the  work  as  best  you  can.  Judging 
by  the  coffee  this  morning,  I  don't 
think  your  cooking  will  have  the  same 
eifect  on  us  that  it  did  on  the  students 
at  Lady  Margaret  Hall.  We  were 


130  KATHLEEN 

expecting  a  guest  for  lunch  but  I  will 
have  to  put  him  off  until  supper.  I  have 
written  out  the  menu  for  the  day.  Mary 
will  give  you  any  help  she  can." 

"If  you  please,  ma'am?"  said  Eliza. 

"Yes?" 

"Cook  gave  me  a  message  for  Miss 
Kathleen,  ma'am,  which  she  asked  me 
to  deliver  in  person." 

"A  message  for  Miss  Kathleen?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Well,  you  can  tell  me,  I  will  tell 
Miss  Kathleen." 

"Cook  said  I  was  to  give  it  to  her 
personally,"  said  the  persistent  Eliza. 

"How  very  extraordinary,"  said 
Mrs.  Kent.  "What  did  you  say  was 
the  matter  with  Ethel — is  it  anything 
contagious?" 

"Oh,  no,  ma'am,  I  think  it's  just  a 


K  ATH  LE  EN 

touch  of — of  nervous  debility,  ma'am — 
too  many  white  corpuscles,  ma'am." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  Miss  Kathleen 
can  come  down  now,  Eliza;  we  have 
just  had  a  very  strange  telegram 
which  has  rather  upset  us." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

The  new  cook  sat  down  to  peel 
potatoes  and  study  the  mechanics  of 
Kitchencraft.  She  found  much  to 
baffle  her  in  the  array  of  pots  and 
pans,  and  in  the  workings  of  the 
range.  From  a  cupboard  she  took 
out  mince-meat  choppers,  potato 
mashers,  cream  whippers,  egg-beaters, 
and  other  utensils,  gazing  at  them 
in  total  ignorance  of  their  functions. 
Mrs.  Kent  had  indicated  jugged  hare 
and  mashed  potatoes  for  lunch,  and 
after  some  scrutiny  of  the  problem 


132  KATHLEEN 

Eliza  found  a  hammer  in  the  cabinet 
with  which  she  began  to  belabour  the 
vegetables.  Mary,  who  might  have 
suggested  boiling  the  potatoes  first, 
was  then  upstairs. 

By  and  by  Kathleen  heard  the 
thumping,  and  came  into  the  kitchen 
to  investigate. 

"Good  morning,  Eliza." 

"Good  morning,  Miss,"  said  the  de 
lighted  cook.  "Oh,  I  am  so  happy  to 
see  you,  Miss!" 

"Thank  you,  Eliza.  Did  you  have 
a  message  for  me  from  Ethel?" 

"Yes,  Miss.  Er — Ethel  said  she 
hoped  you'd  give  me  all  the  help  you 
can,  Miss,  because — er,  you  see,  Miss, 
cooking  for  a  private  family  is  very 
different  from  working  in  a  college 
where  there  are  so  many,  Miss." 


KATHLEEN  133 

"I  see.  Well — what  on  earth  are 
you  doing  to  those  potatoes,  Eliza? " 

"Mashing  'em,  Miss." 

"What,  with  a  hammer!" 

"I  washed  the  'ammer,  Miss." 

"Surely  you  didn't  mash  them  that 
way  at  Maggie  Hall,  Eliza?" 

"Yes,  miss.  The  young  ladies  got 
so  they  couldn't  abide  them  done  any 
other  way." 

Kathleen  looked  more  closely,  and 
examined  the  badly  bruised  tubers. 
"Good  gracious,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
a  ripple  of  laughter.  "They  haven't 
been  cooked  yet!" 

Eliza  was  rather  taken  aback. 

"Well,  you  see,  Miss,"  she  said,  "at 
the  college  we  used  nothing  but  fireless 
cookers,  and  I  don't  understand  these 
old-fashioned  stoves  very  well.  I 


134  KATHLEEN 

wanted  to  get  you   to  explain    it  to 


me/' 


"It's  perfectly  simple/'  said  Kath 
leen.  'This  is  the  oven,  and  when  you 

want  to  bake  anything Phew! "  she 

cried,  opening  the  oven  door,  "what 
have  you  got  in  here?" 

She  took  a  cloth,  and  lifted  out  of  the 
oven  a  tall  china  pitcher  with  a  strange- 
looking  object  protruding  from  it. 

Eliza  was  panic  stricken,  and  for  an 
instant  forgot  her  role. 

"My  God!  I  put  the  hare  in  there 
and  forgot  all  about  it.  What  a  bally 
sell!" 

Kathleen  removed  the  hideous  thing, 
hardly  knowing  whether  to  laugh  or 
cry. 

"Look  here,  Eliza/'  she  said.  "They 
may  jug  hares  that  way  at  Maggie 


KATHLEEN  135 

Hall,  but  I  doubt  it.  Now,  what  can 
you  cook?  We've  got  guests  coming 
to-night.  A  gentleman  from  America 
is  going  to  be  here  and  we  must  put  our 
best  foot  forward/' 

Eliza's  face  was  a  study  in  painful 
emotion. 

"Excuse  me,  Miss,"  she  said,  "but  is 
that  American  gentleman  called  Mr. 
Blair?" 

"Yes, "said  Kathleen.  " Really, Eliza, 
you  are  most  extraordinary.  How  did 
you  know?" 

"  I've  heard  of  him,"  said  Eliza.  "  I 
think  I  ought  to  warn  you  against  him, 
miss.  He's — he's  a  counterfeiter." 

"  Nonsense,  Eliza.  What  notions  you 
do  have!  He's  an  antiquarian,  and 
he's  coming  to  see  my  father  about 
archaeology.  He's  a  friend  of  Miss 


136  KATHLEEN 

Josephine,  from  Oxford.  Now  I  think 
you'd  better  get  on  with  your  cooking 
and  not  worry  about  counterfeiters/' 

"Miss  Kathleen/'  said  Eliza,  "I 
think  I'd  better  be  frank  with  you.  I 
want  to  tell  you " 

Here  Mary  came  into  the  kitchen, 
and  although  Eliza  Thick  made  frantic 
gestures  to  her  to  keep  away,  the  house 
maid  was  too  dense  to  understand. 
The  opportunity  for  confession  was 
lost. 

"Now,  Eliza,"  said  Kathleen,  "Mary 
will  help  you  in  anything  you're  not 
certain  about.  I'll  come  down  again 
later  to  see  how  you're  getting  on." 

By  supper  time  that  night  Eliza 
Thick  began  to  think  that  perhaps  she 
had  made  a  tactical  error  by  interning 
herself  in  the  kitchen  where  there  was 


KATHLEEN  137 

but  small  opportunity  for  a  tete-a-tete 
with  the  bewitching  Kathleen.  The 
news  that  Blair  was  coming  to  the  even 
ing  meal  was  highly  disconcerting,  and 
the  worried  cook  even  contemplated  the 
possibility  of  doctoring  the  American's, 
plate  of  soup  with  ratsbane  or  hemlock. 
Once  during  the  afternoon  she  ventured 
a  sally  upstairs  (carrying  a  scuttle  of 
coal  as  a  pretext)  in  the  vague  hope  of 
finding  Kathleen  somewhere  about  the 
house.  Unfortunately  she  met  Mrs. 
Kent  on  the  stairs,  who  promptly  or 
dered  her  back  to  her  proper  domain. 
Here  Eliza  found  a  disreputable-looking 
person  trying  to  cozen  Mary  into  ad 
mitting  him  to  the  house.  He  claimed 
to  be  an  agent  of  the  gas  company,  in 
search  of  a  rumoured  leak.  Eliza 
immediately  spotted  Priapus,  and  in- 


138  KATHLEEN 

dignantly  ejected  him  by  force  of  arms. 
In  the  scuffle  a  dish  pan  and  several 
chairs  were  overturned.  Mary,  whose 
nerves  were  rather  unstrung  by  the 
sustained  comedy  she  was  witnessing, 
uttered  an  obbligato  of  piercing  yelps 
which  soon  brought  Kathleen  to  the 
scene.  Eliza  received  a  severe  rating, 
and  so  admired  the  angry  sparkle  in 
Kathleen's  eyes  that  she  could  hardly 
retort. 

"One  other  thing,  Eliza,"  said  Kath 
leen,  in  conclusion.  "There  are  to  be 
two  guests  at  supper.  Mr.  Carter,  a 
curate  from  Oxford,  is  coming,  too. 
Please  allow  for  him  in  your  prepara 
tions." 

"If  you  please,  Miss,"  cried  the 
much-goaded  cook,  "is  that  Mr. 
Stephen  Carter?" 


KATHLEEN  139 

I  believe  it  is,"  said  Kathleen, 
what  of  it?  Is  he  a  counterfeiter, 
too?" 

"Miss  Kathleen,  I  know  you  think  it 
strange,  but  I  must  warn  you  against 
that  curate.  Dear  Miss  Kathleen,  he  is 
dangerous.  He  is  not  what  he  seems." 

"Eliza,  you  forget  yourself,"  said 
Kathleen,  severely.  "Mr.  Carter 
comes  with  an  introduction  from  the 
Bishop  of  Oxford.  I  hope  that  is 
satisfactory  to  you!  In  any  case,  we 
do  not  need  your  approval  for  our  list  of 
guests.  Mrs.  Kent  wants  you  to  take 
great  care  with  the  stuffed  eggs.  Those 
mashed  potatoes  made  her  quite  ill." 

"Please,  Miss,  I'm  dreadful  worried 
about  those  eggs.  The  book  says  to 
make  a  nest  for  'em,  and  truly  I  don't 
know  how  to  go  about  it.  The  young 


140  KATHLEEN 

ladies  at  college  never  ate  their  eggs  in 
nests,  miss.  And  when  I  gets  nervous 
I  can't  do  myself  justice,  Miss.  I  never 
can  remember  which  is  the  yolks  and 
which  is  the  whites,  miss/' 

"Now,  that  will  do,  Eliza,"  said 
Kathleen.  "You  are  a  very  eccentric 
creature,  but  I  don't  think  you  are  as 
stupid  as  all  that.  What  do  you 
want?  Do  you  expect  me  to  come 
down  here  and  oversee  all  your  prepara 
tions?" 

"Oh,  if  you  only  would,  Miss,  it  would 
be  so  gratifying!" 

Kathleen  laughed,  a  girlish  bubbling 
of  pure  mirth,  which  was  dreadful 
torment  to  the  jealous  masquerader. 
She  departed,  leaving  the  cook  a  prey 
to  savage  resolve.  "Well,"  thought 
Eliza,  "if  the  supper  is  bad  enough  I 


KATHLEEN 

guess  she'll  just  have  to  come  down  and 
help  me.  Thank  goodness  Blair  and 
Carter  are  both  coming;  they'll  cut  each 
other's  throats,  and  perhaps  the  stuffed 
eggs  will  win  after  all.  As  for  that  gas 
man,  he  won't  get  into  this  house  unless 
it's  over  my  dead  body ! " 


XII 

IT  WAS  a  feverish  and  excited  Eliza 
that  Kathleen  found  in  the  kitchen 
when  she  tripped  downstairs  after  the 
soup  course.  On  a  large  platter  the 
cook  had  built  a  kind  of  untidy  thicket 
of  parsley  and  chopped  celery,  eked  out 
with  lettuce  leaves.  Ambushed  in  this 
were  lurking  a  number  of  very  pallid 
and  bluish-looking  eggs,  with  a  non 
descript  stuffing  bulging  out  of  them. 

"I  forgot  to  measure  the  yolks, 
Miss,"  wailed  Eliza.  "That's  why  the 
stuffing  don't  fit.  Shall  I  throw  a  dash 
of  rum  on  board  to  stiffen  'em  up?" 

In  spite  of  her  vexation,  Kathleen 
142 


KATHLEEN  143 

could  not  help  laughing.  "No,  no," 
she  said.  "  We'll  tidy  up  the  nest  a 
bit  and  send  them  upstairs/' 

"That's  grand/'  said  Eliza,  watching 
Kathleen's  quick  fingers.  "  Tis  a 
beautiful  comely  hand  you  have,  miss, 
one  that  it's  a  pleasure  to  admire." 

"Now,  Eliza,"  said  Kathleen, 
"you  must  not  shout  up  the  dumb 
waiter  so.  I  distinctly  heard  you 
cry  out  'This  plate's  for  the  parson!' 
as  you  sent  up  one  of  the  dishes  of 
soup." 

"If  you  please,  Miss,"  said  Eliza. 
"That  was  because  it  was  the  plate  I 
spilled  a  spoonful  of  pepper  into,  and 
I  thought  it  had  better  go  to  the  cloth 
than  anywhere  else.  Miss  Kathleen, 
I  have  something  very  urgent  to  say 
to  you  before  them  two  counterfeiters 


144  KATHLEEN 

upstairs  commit  any  affidavits  or  sworn 
statements/' 

"You  dish  out  the  eggs,  Eliza/'  said 
Kathleen,  "and  I'll  send  them  up 
the  dumb  waiter.  Quick,  now!  And 
where's  your  dessert?  Is  it  ready?" 

"All  doing  finely,  Miss/'  answered 
Eliza,  but  as  she  opened  the  oven  door 
her  assurance  collapsed.  She  drew  out 
a  cottage  pudding,  blackened  and  burnt 
to  carbon. 

"A  great  success,"  said  the  bogus 
cook,  but  holding  it  on  the  other  side 
of  her  apron  so  that  Kathleen  could 
not  see.  "Here,  I'll  just  shoot  it  up 
the  shaft  myself  before  it  gets  cold." 
She  hurried  into  the  pantry,  whisked  it 
into  the  dumb  waiter  before  Kathleen 
could  catch  a  glimpse,  and  sent  it  flying 
aloft. 


KATHLEEN  145 

"That  smelt  a  little  burnt,  cook/' 
said  Kathleen. 

"Just  a  wee  bit  crisp  on  one  side, 
miss." 

Kathleen  was  in  the  pantry,  with 
her  nose  up  the  dumb-waiter  shaft, 
sniffing  the  trail  of  the  cottage  pudding 
and  wondering  whether  she  ought  to 
recall  it  for  inspection,  when  Eliza, 
turning  toward  the  back  door,  saw  the 
gas-man  on  the  threshold.  The  cook's 
mind  moved  rapidly  in  this  emergency. 
She  knew  that  if  Priapus  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  Kathleen,  dangerous 
exposures  would  follow  at  once. 

"Mary/'  she  whispered  to  the  maid, 
who  had  just  come  down  from  upstairs, 
"run  tell  the  Mistress  the  gas-man  is 
here  again.  I'll  send  him  down  the 
cellar/'  And  while  Kathleen  was  still 


146  KATHLEEN 

in  the  pantry  and  before  the  pseudo 
gas-man  could  demur,  Eliza  seized  him 
by  the  coat  and  hurried  him  across  the 
kitchen  to  the  cellar  door.  She  opened 
this  and  pointed  downstairs.  The  be 
wildered  gas-man  disappeared  down 
the  steps  and  Eliza  closed  the  door  and 
turned  the  key. 

"Now,  Miss,"  said  Eliza.  "I  have 
something  very  serious  to  say  to 
you " 

Just  at  that  moment  she  saw  the 
clerical  black  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Carter  coming  down  the  kitchen 
stairs. 

" — and  that  is,  we'd  best  get  this 
fruit  up  without  delay/'  and  seizing 
a  large  bowl  of  apples,  oranges,  and 
bananas,  she  passed  it  to  Kathleen  and 
backed  her  into  the  pantry  again. 


KATHLEEN  147 

Kathleen  unsuspectingly  pushed  the 
fruit  up  the  dumb  waiter  and  mean 
while  it  took  no  more  than  an  instant 
for  Eliza  to  take  the  curate  by  the  arm, 
motion  him  to  silence,  and  push  him 
toward  the  cellar  door. 

"He's  down  there/'  she  whispered, 
and  Carter  innocently  followed  his 
fellow  Scorpion.  Again  Eliza  closed 
the  door  and  turned  the  key. 

"Well,  Eliza/'  said  Kathleen,  "I 
don't  think  you're  much  of  a  cook,  but 
you're  a  willing  worker." 

"Miss  Kathleen,"  said  the  cook, 
who  was  now  more  anxious  than  ever 
to  cleanse  her  bosom  of  much  perilous 
stuff,  "are  you  very  down  on  practical 
jokes?" 

"Practical  jokes?  Why,  yes,  Eliza. 
I  think  they  are  the  lowest  form  of 


KATHLEEN 

humour.  Good  gracious !  I  do  believe 
we've  forgotten  the  coffee!  Have  you 
got  it  ready?" 

"Yes,  Miss;  yes,  Miss;  right  here," 
said  Eliza,  bustling  to  the  stove.  "  But 
don't  you  think,  miss,  that  a  frank 
confession  atones  for  a  great  deal?" 

"Really,  Eliza,  you  are  the  most 
priceless  creature!  I  don't  wonder  Joe 
was  taken  with  you!  Hush!  There's 
the  front-door  bell;  what  do  you  sup 
pose  that  is?" 

They  both  listened,  Kathleen  at  the 
dumb-waiter  shaft  and  Eliza  at  the 
kitchen  door.  Eliza  started  to  say 
something,  but  Kathleen  waved  her 
to  be  quiet.  A  heavy  step  sounded 
on  the  stair,  and  the  agitated  Mary 
appeared,  followed  by  a  huge  police 
man.  Eliza,  of  course,  recognized  the 


KATHLEEN  1 49 

Iron  Duke,  but  the  gas-light  and  the 
disguise  prevented  the  latter  from  know 
ing  his  fellow  venturer. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  said 
Kathleen. 

"Please,  Miss/'  said  the  blue-coat, 
"your  mother  said  there's  a  gas-man 
down  here  and  I've  been  sent  by  head 
quarters  to  take  him  in  charge.  I 
think  he's  a  sneak  thief." 

"There's  no  such  person  here, officer," 
said  Kathleen. 

Eliza  still  kept  her  sovereign  wits 
about  her.  She  advanced  to  the  police 
man,  and  whispering  mysteriously 
"He's  in  here,"  took  his  sleeve  and  led 
him  to  the  cellar  door. 

"He's  down  there,"  she  repeated; 
"put  the  cuffs  on  him,  quick!"  She 
opened  the  door,  and  the  doubtful 


I5O  KATHLEEN 

policeman,  hypnotized  by  her  decision, 
stepped  on  to  the  cellar  stairs.  The 
door  closed  behind  him,  and  again 
Eliza  turned  the  key. 

"What  does  all  this  mean?"  de 
manded  Kathleen,  angrily.  "  Has  every 
body  gone  daft?  Eliza,  ever  since  you 
came  into  the  house,  there  has  been 
nothing  but  turmoil.  I  wish  you  would 
explain.  Why  have  you  sent  the  police 
man  into  the  cellar?" 

"There's  three  dangerous  counter 
feiters  down  there,  Miss/'  said  Eliza. 
"  I  want  to  tell  you  the  truth  about 
this,  Miss  Kathleen,  before  that  Ameri 
can  gets  down  here — he's  bound  to  be 
here  soon.  He's  the  worst  of  the 
lot." 

"Open  that  door  at  once!"  said 
Kathleen,  stamping  her  foot.  "  I  don't 


K  ATH  LE  EN  15! 

know  what  on  earth  you  mean  by 
counterfeiters,  but  if  there  are  any 
down  there,  let's  have  them  up,  and 
see  what  they  have  to  say/' 

The  dining-room  bell  rang,  and 
Mary  instinctively  hurried  upstairs. 
At  the  same  moment  Blair  ran  down, 
three  steps  at  a  time,  and  bounded 
into  the  kitchen.  He  started  when  he 
saw  Eliza. 

"Are  you  all  right,  Miss  Kent?" 
he  asked,  anxiously.  "I've  been  so 
worried  about  you.  Is  that  gas 
man  still  here?  I  think  I  can  smell 
gas  escaping.  Can  I  help  in  any 
way?" 

"What  you  smell  is  a  burnt  cottage 
pudding/'  replied  Kathleen.  'There's  a 
policeman  in  the  cellar,  I  wish  you'd 
call  him  up.  I  have  a  great  mind  to 


152  KATHLEEN 

ask  him  to  take  Eliza  in  charge.  I 
don't  think  she's  quite  right/' 

Blair  looked  at  Eliza  closely. 

"I  agree  with  you,  Miss  Kathleen," 
he  said.  "She  looks  like  a  bad  egg  to 
me — a  devilled  egg,  in  fact.  Which  is 
the  cellar  door,  cook?" 

Eliza  saw  her  chance. 

"Right  here,  sir/'  she  said,  taking 
hold  of  the  door  knob.  She  swung 
the  door  open. 

"Looks  very  dark,"  said  Blair.  "I 
can't  quite  see  the  step.  Where  is  it?  " 

Eliza,  eager  to  add  this  last  specimen 
to  her  anthology  in  the  cellar,  stepped 
forward  to  point  out  the  stairway. 
With  one  lusty  push  Blair  shoved  her 
through  the  door,  and  banged  it  to. 
He  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  and 
thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 


K  ATH  LE  EN  153 

"Miss  Kent/'  he  said,  "I'm  afraid 
you  must  think  us  all  crazy.  If  you 
will  only  let  me  have  five  minutes' 
uninterrupted  talk  with  you,  I  can 
explain  these  absurd  misadventures. 
Please,  won't  you  let  me?" 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  Kath 
leen,  "I'm  hungry.  I've  had  only  a 
plate  of  soup,  and  that  was — counter 
feit.  I  think  that  mad  woman  in 
tended  it  for  the  curate,  for  whom 
she  had  conceived  a  dislike." 

"Let's  go  up  and  sit  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  I  can  talk  while  you 
eat." 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Kent's  voice 
sounded  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"Kathleen,  dear,  is  everything  all 
right?" 

"Yes,  Mother,"  called   Kathleen  in 


154  KATHLEEN 

the    same    silvery    soprano    that    set 
Blair's  heart  dancing. 

"Your  father  wants  Mr.  Blair  to 
come  up  to  the  drawing-room  and  talk 
to  him.  He  wants  to  tell  him  about 
the  Battle  of  Wolverhampton." 


XIII 

BLAI R,  nervously  playing  with  a  key, 
stood  by  the  fire  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Mrs.  Kent  had  excused  herself 
and  gone  upstairs.  In  the  dining-room, 
across  the  hall,  he  could  see  Kathleen 
gleaning  over  the  supper  table  while 
the  maid  cleared  away  the  dishes.  In 
spite  of  his  peevishness,  he  smiled  to 
see  her  pick  up  one  of  the  stuffed  eggs 
on  a  fork,  taste  it,  and  lay  it  down  with 
a  grimace.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
drawing-room  Mr.  Kent,  leaning  on  his 
cane,  was  rummaging  among  some 
books. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  the  antiquarian, 
155 


156  KATHLEEN 

hobbling  back  with  several  heavy  tomes. 
"Here  is  Clarendon's  History.  Now 
I  want  to  read  you  what  he  has  to  say 
about  that  incident  in  1645,  then  I  will 
read  you  my  manuscript  notes,  to  show 
you  how  they  fill  up  the  gaps.  Kath 
leen!" 

"Yes,     Dad/'    answered    Kathleen, 
coming  into  the  room. 

"Will  you  get  me  my  glasses,  dear?" 
"Yes,  indeed,"  and  she  ran  across 
the  room  to  fetch  them  from  the 
bookcase  where  he  had  left  them. 
She  seated  herself  on  the  arm  of  her 
father's  chair.  She  was  a  charming 
and  graceful  figure,  swinging  the  slender 
ankle  that  the  Scorpions  afterward 
described  with  imaginative  fervour  as 
"a  psalm,"  "a  fairy-tale,"  and  "an 
aurora  borealis."  They  none  of  them 


K  ATH  LE  EN  157 

ever  agreed  as  to  the  dress  she  wore 
that  evening;  but  Eliza  Thick,  who  was 
perhaps  the  most  observant,  declared 
that  it  looked  like  a  chintz  curtain.  I 
think  it  must  have  had  small  sprigs  of 
flowers  printed  on  it.  Her  eyes,  ex 
claimed  the  broken-hearted  gas-man, 
were  like  "a  twilight  with  only  two 
stars."  Perhaps  he  meant  a  street 
with  two  lamps  lighted. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you're  going  to  read 
your  notes  to  Mr.  Blair,"  she  said, 
mischievously.  "They  are  so  fasci 
nating,  and  there's  such  a  jolly  lot  of 
them." 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Kent's  eyes  are 
tired?"  said  Blair,  hastily. 

"Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit!"  said  Mr. 
Kent.  "I  don't  often  get  such  a  good 
listener.  By  the  way,  what  happened 


158  KATHLEEN 

to  that  nice  young  curate?  I  hope 
the  gas-man  didn't  injure  him?" 

Kathleen  looked  at  Blair  with  danc 
ing  eyes. 

"  He  had  to  go,"  declared  Blair.  "  He 
was  awfully  sorry.  He  asked  me  to 
make  his  apologies/' 

"Perhaps  the  Bishop  sent  for  him 
suddenly/'  said  Kathleen. 

"Well/'  resumed  Mr.  Kent,  "1  shall 
begin  with  the  Battle  of  Naseby. 
After  that  memorable  struggle,  a  por 
tion  of  the  royalist  forces " 

The  front-door   bell   trilled   briskly. 

"Oh,  dear  me,"  sighed  poor  Mr. 
Kent,  looking  up  from  his  papers. 
"The  fates  are  against  us,  Mr.  Blair." 

The  Scotch  terrier  had  been  lying 
by  the  fire,  caressed  by  the  toe  of 
Kathleen's  slipper,  as  she  sat  on  the 


KATHLEEN  159 

arm  of  her  father's  chair.  Suddenly 
he  jumped  up,  wagging  his  tail,  and 
barked  with  evident  glee.  A  tall,  dark- 
eyed  girl,  a  little  older  than  Kathleen, 
pushed  the  hall  curtains  aside  and 
darted  into  the  room. 

"Joe,  you  darling!"  cried  Kathleen. 
"How's  your  leg?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Joe. 
"Which  leg?  What's  wrong  with 
it?" 

"Well,  Joe,  my  dear,  this  is  a  jolly 
surprise,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  laying  aside 
his  books.  "We  heard  you  were  laid 
up.  Some  misunderstanding  some 
where.  We've  got  a  friend  of  yours 
here,  you  see — Mr.  Blair." 

Blair  wished  he  could  have  sunk 
through  the  floor.  He  would  have 
given  anything  to  be  with  the  other 


l6o  KATHLEEN 

four  in  the  darkness  of  the  cellar.  His 
ears  and  cheeks  burned  painfully. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Blair/'  said 
Josephine,  cordially.  "There  must  be 
some  mistake,  I've  never  met  Mr. 
Blair  before." 

"My  dear  Joe,"  cried  Kathleen,  "I 
do  think  we  have  all  gone  nuts.  Look 
here!"  She  took  three  sheets  of  paper 
from  the  mantelpiece.  "Did  you  or 
did  you  not  send  us  those  telegrams?" 

Joe  ran  her  eye  over  the  messages, 
reading  them  aloud. 

"  Miss  Kathleen  Kent: 

"My  friend  Blair  of  Trinity  now  in 
Wolverhampton  for  historical  study  staying 
at  Blue  Boar  nice  chap  American " 

Here  Joe  raised  her  eyes  and  looked 
appraisingly  at  Blair,  whose  confusion 
was  agonizing. 


KATHLEEN  l6l 

"may  be  call  on  you  if  so  send  him  a  line 
sorry  can  't  write  hurt  hand  playing  soccer 
love  to  all  Joe." 

"  Frederick  Kent:  Unavoidably  detained 
Oxford  hurt  leg  playing  soccer  wish  you  could 
join  me  at  once  very  urgent.  Joe." 

She  bent  down  to  the  terrier  which 
was  standing  affectionately  at  her 
feet. 

"Well,  Fred,  old  boy,"  she  said, 
patting  him,  "did  Joe  send  you  a 
telegram,  heh?" 

"Mrs.  Philip  Kent:  Have  found  very 
good  cook  out  of  place  am  sending  her  to  you 
earnestly  recommend  give  her  a  trial  reliable 
woman  but  eccentric  name  Eli^a  Thick  will 
call  Sunday  morning.  Joe." 

"My  dear  Kathleen,"  said  Joe,  "you 
flatter  me.  I  never  sent  any  of  those 


l62  KATHLEEN 

messages.  Do  you  know  any  other 
Joes?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Kent/' 
said  Blair.  "But  I  must  tell  you.  I 
sent  two  of  those  telegrams,  and  I 
think  I  can  guess  who  sent  the  other. 
Miss  Eliza  Thick  herself." 

"You!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Kent  and 
both  girls  in  the  same  breath. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Kent.  I  blush  to  con 
fess  it,  but  you  and  your  family  have 
been  abominably  hoaxed,  and  I  can  see 
nothing  for  it  but  to  admit  the  truth. 
Painful  as  it  is,  I  prefer  to  tell  you 
everything." 

The  two  girls  settled  themselves  on 
the  couch  and  Mr.  Kent,  bewildered, 
sat  upright  in  his  chair.  The  dog, 
satisfied  that  everything  was  serene, 
jumped  on  the  divan  and  lay  down 


KATHLEEN  163 

between  Joe  and  Kathleen.  The  un 
happy  Blair  stood  awkwardly  on  the 
hearth  rug. 

"Last  January/7  he  began,  "a  gentle 
man  by  the  name  of  Kenneth  Forbes, 
an  undergraduate  of  Merton  College 
(now  studying  the  gas  meter  in  your 
cellar),  was  in  Blackwell's  book  shop, 
in  Oxford,  browsing  about.  Lying 
on  a  row  of  books  in  a  corner  of  the 
shop  he  happened  to  see  a  letter, 
without  an  envelope.  He  picked  it  up 
and  glanced  at  it.  It  had  evidently 
been  dropped  there  by  some  customer. 

"The  address  engraved  on  the 
paper  was  318,  Bancroft  Road,  Wol- 
verhampton.  It  was  dated  last  Octo 
ber  and  the  letter  began:  'Dear  Joe, 
Thank  you  so  much  for  the  tie — it  is 
pretty  and  I  do  wear  ties  sometimes, 


164  KATHLEEN 

so  I  shaVt  let  the  boys  have  it.'  In 
the  upper  left-hand  corner  were  four 
crosses,  and  the  words  'These  are 
from  Fred/  The  letter  was  signed 
'Kathleen/" 

The  two  girls  looked  at  each  other. 

"It  so  happened/7  continued  Blair, 
"that  the  man  who  found  the  letter 
had  promised  to  write,  the  very  next 
day,  the  first  chapter  of  a  serial  story 
for  a  little  literary  club  to  which  he 
belonged.  At  the  time  when  he  found 
this  letter  lying  about  the  bookshop 
he  was  racking  his  brain  for  a  theme 
for  his  opening  chapter.  A  great 
idea  struck  him.  He  put  the  letter  in 
his  pocket  and  hurried  back  to  his 
room. 

"His  idea  was  to  build  up  a  story 
around  the  characters  of  the  letter. 


KATHLEEN  165 

He  had  no  idea  whom  it  came  from 
or  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  The 
thought  of  making  these  unknown 
persons  of  the  letter  the  figures  of  the 
story  appealed  to  him,  and  with  an 
eager  pen  he  set  down  the  first  chap 
ter,  with  'Kathleen'  as  heroine  and 
'Joe'  as  hero/' 

A  faint  line  of  colour  crept  up  Kath 
leen's  girlish  cheek. 

"This  idea,  which  suggested  itself 
to  Forbes  when  he  found  the  letter  in 
the  bookshop,  was  taken  up  enthusi 
astically  by  the  group  of  undergrad 
uates  composing  the  little  club.  The 
fabrication  of  the  story  was  the  chief 
amusement  of  the  term. 

"It  would  be  unfair  to  me  and  to 
the  other  men  not  to  say  frankly  that 
the  whim  was  not  taken  up  in  any 


Ib6  KATHLEEN 

malicious  or  underhand  spirit.  Given 
the  idea  as  it  first  came  to  the  man 
in  the  bookshop,  the  rest  flowed  natur 
ally  out  of  it,  urged  by  high  spirits. 
I  must  tell  you  honestly  that  the 
characters  of  that  letter  became  very 
real  to  us.  We  speculated  endlessly 
on  their  personalities,  tastes,  and  ages. 
We  all  became  frantic  admirers  of 
the  lady  who  had  signed  the  letter, 
and  considered  ourselves  jealous  rivals 
of  the  man  'Joe/  to  whom,  as  we 
supposed,  it  had  been  written.  And 
when  the  end  of  term  came,  the  five 
members  who  had  entered  most  com 
pletely  into  the  spirit  of  the  game 
agreed  to  come  to  Wolverhampton  for 
the  express  purpose  of  attempting  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  Kath 
leen  who  had  so  engaged  their  fancy/' 


KATHLEEN  167 

"Really,  I  think  this  is  dreadfully 
silly/'  said  Kathleen,  colouring.  "Joe, 
are  we  characters  in  a  serial,  or  are 
we  real  persons?" 

"This  confession  is  very  painful 
for  me,  Mr.  Kent/'  said  Blair,  "be 
cause  things  don't  seem  to  have  turned 
out  at  all  as  we  thought,  and  I'm 
afraid  we  have  abused  your  hospi 
tality  barbarously.  I  can  only  beg 
that  you  will  forgive  this  wild  prank, 
which  was  actuated  by  the  most  in 
nocent  motives/' 

"Then  do  I  understand,"  asked  Mr. 
Kent,  "that  your  interest  in  Wolver- 
hampton  history  was  merely  simu 
lated,  for  the  purpose  of  making  the 
acquaintance  of  my  daughter?" 

"You  make  me  very  much  ashamed, 
sir,  but  that  is  the  truth." 


l68  KATHLEEN 

Mr.  Kent  rose  to  his  feet,  leaning 
on  his  cane. 

"Well,  well/'  he  said,  "I  have  no 
wish  to  seem  crabbed.  I'm  sorry  to 
lose  so  excellent  a  listener.  I  thought 
it  was  too  good  to  be  true!  But 
when  one  has  a  daughter  one  must 
expect  her  to  grow  up,  and  become 
the  heroine  of  serial  stories.  I  trust 
that  that  story  is  not  to  be  published — 
I  can  ask  that,  at  least!" 

"Our  intention,"  said  Blair,  "was 
to  give  the  manuscript  to  Miss  Kent 
as  a  token  of  our  united  admiration." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  "make  my 
apologies  to  the  other  conspirators. 
I  take  it  that  that  dreadful  Eliza  Thick 
was  one  of  them.  I  hope  our  cook 
will  be  back  to-morrow.  Upon  my 
word,  those  stuffed  eggs  were  inde- 


KATHLEEN  169 

scribable!  Joe,  my  dear,  suppose  you 
let  me  take  you  up  to  see  your  aunt. 
I  expect  these  people  will  want  to 
recriminate  each  other  a  little,  and 
reach  some  sort  of  misunderstanding/' 

Joe  and  Mr.  Kent  left  the  room,  but 
a  moment  later  Mr.  Kent  reappeared 
at  the  door. 

"Mr.  Blair,"  he  said,  "please  don't 
think  me  lacking  in  sportsmanship.  I 
was  young  once  myself.  I  just  wanted 
to  say  that  I  think  you  all  staged  it 
remarkably  well.  Give  Mr.  Carter 
my  compliments  on  that  telegram  from 
the  Bishop." 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  Blair,  as 
Mr.  Kent  vanished  behind  the  curtains. 
"I  forgot.  Those  fellows  are  still 
down  in  the  cellar."  He  held  out  the 
key.  "I  must  let  them  out." 


I7O  KATHLEEN 

"Wait   a   minute/'   said    Kathleen. 
"I  have  no  desire  to  see  that  Eliza 
Thick  again,  nor  that  odious  curate- 
not  even  the  enterprising  gas-man!" 

For  the  space  of  fifteen  thoughts 
or  so  there  was  silence.  Kathleen  sat 
at  one  end  of  the  big  couch,  the  fire 
light  shimmering  round  her  in  a 
softening  glow.  Blair  stood  painfully 
at  the  other  side  of  the  hearth. 

"Miss  Kathleen/'  he  said,  "I  want 
to  beg  you,  on  behalf  of  the  other 
fellows,  not  to  be  too  severe  with  them. 
I  guess  I'm  the  worst  offender,  with 
my  bogus  telegrams  and  my  deliberate 
deception  of  your  father.  But  I  ought 
to  explain  that  we  all  came  here  with 
a  definite  intention  in  mind.  The 
man  who  was  first  able  to  engage  you 
in  friendly  conversation  and  get  you 


KATH  LE  EN  171 

to  accept  an  invitation  to  come  to 
Oxford  for  Eights  Week,  was  to  be 
the  winner  of  the  competition." 

"I've  already  accepted  an  invita 
tion  for  Eights  Week/'  she  said,  after 
a  pause. 

He  uttered  a  dejected  silence  that 
was  a  classic  of  its  kind,  a  marvel 
of  accurate  registration. 

Kathleen  looked  up  at  him  for  the 
first  time  since  his  confession  of  the 
hoax.  Their  eyes  met. 

"Is  it  Carter?"  he  asked,  woefully. 

"I've  promised  to  go  and  stay  with 
Joe  at  Maggie  Hall." 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "I  expect  to 
row  in  the  Trinity  boat.  Will  you  and 
your  mother  and — and  Miss  Joe — 
watch  the  racing  from  our  barge,  one 
afternoon  anyway?  Then  you  could 


1 72  KATHLEEN 

come  to  tea  in  my  rooms  afterward, 
and  I'll  ask  the  other  fellows  in  to 
meet  you/' 

"The  parson  and  the  policeman  and 
the  gas-man,  and — and — Eliza  Thick?" 

"Yes.  They're  all  splendid  chaps, 
I  know  you'll  like  them/' 

"Well,"  she  murmured,  "I  dare 
say  Eliza  Thick  would  be  all  right  in 
his  proper  costume.  I  shall  never 
forget  his  nest-building  genius!  Now 
I  understand  what  he  meant  by  all 
that  talk  about  counterfeiters." 

"You  will  come  to  the  Trinity 
barge?"  he  begged. 

There  was  a  pause.  A  dropping 
coal  clicked  in  the  grate,  and  Kath 
leen's  small  slipper  tapped  on  the 
fender. 

"I   should  think,"   she  said,   "that 


KATHLEEN  173 

a  man  as  persistent  as  you  would 
make  a  good  oar.  I'm  glad  the  others 
aren't  Americans,  too.  It  was  bad 
enough  as  it  was!" 

"Miss  Kathleen/'  he  pleaded,  "I 
guess  I  can't  make  you  understand  what 
I'd  like  to.  But  if  you'll  just  come 
punting  up  the  Cher,  on  Sunday  in 
Eights  Week,  there  are  so  many  things 
I'd  like  to  tell  you." 

"Yes,  I've  always  wanted  to  hear 
about  America,  and  the  difference  be 
tween  a  Republican  and  a  Democrat/' 

"And  you  will  come?" 

Kathleen  rose,  laughing. 

"I  have  already  accepted  Joe's  in 
vitation,"  she  said.  "Good-night,  Mr. 
Blair."  She  gave  him  her  hand. 

He  held  it  as  long  as  he  dared, 
looking  her  straight  in  the  eye. 


174  KATHLEEN 

'Tm  not  nearly  as  jealous  of  Joe 
as  I  was!" 

She  was  gone  through  the  curtains, 
a  flash  of  dainty  grace.  Then  her 
face  reappeared. 

"If  you  care  to  call  again  some 
time,  Dad  would  love  to  read  you 
those  notes  on  the  Battle  of  Wolver- 
hampton!" 

Blair  looked  round  the  room.  The 
dog,  lying  by  the  fire,  got  up,  stretched, 
and  wagged  his  tail.  Blair  pulled 
out  his  watch.  "Giminy!"  he  said, 
"I'd  better  go  down  and  let  those 
poor  devils  out  of  the  cellar/' 

THE    END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE   PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
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•• 

SEP  13  1945 

AUG  18  19*7 

HUM     *»*^ 

t£jft\jM* 

ifttorWWK 

2QAgr'5lU5 

lQjul'57WJ 

PETURNED  TO 

MATH.-STAT.  Ufc. 

JUL    1  6    1957 

••!  jgfgfefi  80 

P  2l^6i  ipcd 

YB  682PO 


RI2SOTH 


961 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


